Children of Fear
by DarkHorseBlueSky
Summary: "We are warriors. We are avengers. We are assassins. We are the Nightmare Children. We are Shame, Death, Loss, Dark, Danger, Wrath, Pain, Solitude, Suffering, Judgment, Tempest, and Unknown. Come on Guardians, try to kill us — try to kill the children you left for dead." [Rated T for teenagers.]
1. Names

**A/N: Well here we are, on the anniversary of my pathetic claim to fame known as Dear Fanfiction Writers, not with a special tribute or whatever kinda crap you were expecting but rather with an insanely strange fic whose origins even I can't trace and whose growth is mainly due to the help of other people, namely:  
>- My amazing beta-reader-for-fifteen-chapters Mystichawk<br>- My little sis to whom I dedicated Insanity the unspoken Thirteenth Nightmare Child (dude seriously I love you but you really gotta stop freaking out every time they mention one of the twelve kids in church)  
>- My totally-not-biological sisters BlackAngelDarkLife and the girl known as Amelia Selene in Legends of Awesomeness<br>- My accidental plot-bunny-maker ParadoxalPaladin to whom I spoke maybe once  
>- and all you other guys who hit on at least one thing from this tangled mess of ideas in your reviews. You know who you are.<strong>

**I wish I could have done you guys and your contributions to this story all the justice you deserve but alas, here are the days when I hate everything I write and post it with shame. Abby, I love you and you blew me out of the water with your awesomeness for these first 15 chapters, but since we were forced to part ways I bombed chapters 16-end. So…past 15, don't expect as much. T_T**

**Well I suppose I'll just shut up now and let you read the freaking story already. Enjoy, cry of embarrassment at my poor attempts at revising what was already (Mystichawk's) perfection, and be confused to Manny and back because sure as Hades I am too.**

XXXXXXXXX

**Children of Fear**

.

_They are almost ready. They are almost ready._

The thought continued to roll through his mind as he glided smoothly, without a single sound, through the corridors of his cavern home. Stalactites dripped black water from deep underground rivers and springs and the walls glistened as he passed, sending ripples of shadows throughout the caves. A pair of golden eyes encased in black darted out from a crevice, and he raised his hand to call it closer. The black horse, massive in size and terrifying in demeanor, trotted over to him and whinnied.

"Are they ready?" he asked.

The horse spoke to him in a shadow-language only he could understand, whinnying and stomping its hooves for emphasis.

"Good, good," he replied, stroking the horse's mane. "You are a noble servant, Onyx." He then dismissed the shadow-horse with a snap of his fingers and headed down the echoing corridor, eager to see what fruit his months of research and work had yielded.

From the minute the Guardians had set his own Nightmares on him, sending him tumbling back into this hole in the ground, and from the second he had somehow thrown them off and regained conscious thought, he had been thinking of only two things: justice and revenge. He deserved a chance to be believed in, didn't he? After thousands of years of being alone? That Frost brat had dealt with only a few hundred years, and _he _had been welcomed into the Guardian fold with open arms!

Pitch Black felt his hands clench as he walked stiffly and purposefully towards the cavern where _they_ would be waiting after recovering from their transformations. A measly three hundred years! That was nothing! _Nothing_ compared to how long _he _had been in the dark, cursed to live only in the shadows!

He let out a slow breath to calm himself. _But that is all about to change, _he thought as he entered the room where his greatest masterpieces lay waiting. Waiting…for him.

They all lay in one row, side by side. All he could see were their pale faces as the black sand writhed and curled around them like living bonds. He bent down to look at one. She was about six years of age, but there was something timeless about her. The hair that wasn't hidden by her blanket of nightmare sand was a dark shade of silver-grey and her face was the color of ashes, just like his. Their transformations had been successful. If even their real parents were to see them now, they would be utterly unrecognizable.

"They are beautiful," he said softly, staring at the pale faces one by one. "And they are now mine."

He stood and clapped his hands sharply, and the nightmare sand cocooning the twelve small bodies detached itself smoothly to float back several feet, returning to their normal horse shapes.

The children were all still asleep. Pitch bent down again, taking the silver-haired girl's hand in his.

"Wake up," he crooned in his best attempt at gentleness. "It's time to wake up."

The girl's eyes fluttered open, then they widened with confusion and fear.

"Don't worry," said Pitch before she could cry out. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Who — " she croaked. As softly as he could manage, he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Relax. Your voice will come back to you in time." He helped the girl to her feet and dusted the remnants of nightmare sand off her shoulder. "I am your father." The lie slipped as easily off his tongue as a drop of rain from the sky.

"Father?" she repeated in confusion.

"Yes. And these are your brothers and sisters." He turned her around gently so she could see the other eleven children, still fast asleep. She just stared at them blankly. Her blue-grey eyes traveled down the line once, twice, taking in their almost identical clothes and ashen faces. Then those eyes darted up and met his, letting him see all of the intelligence and curiosity in their depths before they once more averted their path.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked.

"My — my name?" she repeated, as if saying the words for the first time in her life.

"Yes." If she told him her name, her _real_ name, then all the trouble of the magic would have been for nothing and these children would be thousands of times more difficult to manipulate.

"I…I — " she stuttered. He felt the fear flare up inside her and the satisfaction flare up inside him. "I don't remember!"

"Calm down, calm down," he soothed, turning her around to face him. "I'm not going to — "

"I can't remember my name!" she cried, a clear note of panic resounding in her voice. A small drop of satisfaction touched on his cold heart. The magic had worked.

He knelt to her level and gripped her shoulders gently but firmly. This was his first test. "Girl — "

"I can't remember anything! Not my name, nothing!" She started to cry then. Tears started running down her cheeks and she covered her eyes with her tiny hands as she wept.

Then a small smile crept up Pitch's lips. "I think I know your name," he said, laying on the gentleness thick. How long had it been since he'd comforted a child like this? Centuries? Certainly. He hadn't even been_ seen_ by a child for over a thousand years, other than those brats at Easter.

"You do?" the little girl asked, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"Yes." He straightened up. "You are Shame. The fear of humiliation." She was not ashamed; she _was _Shame. The physical embodiment of it, so to speak. He'd thought even this part through and it made sense that the children of Fear himself would have odd names to fit their personalities. The next part was to ease some of the more personified fear-magic into their systems.

She did not seem distressed by this. Quite the opposite, in fact. The learning of her name seemed to give her something to hold on to and she managed a weak smile, bowing her head.

"Now, go sit over there while I wake your brothers and sisters," Pitch instructed, gesturing towards the area that his Nightmares had set up for the children. Twelve black blankets had been neatly folded and placed at the steps of his throne, right beside the iron globe. Of course, these blankets were only a temporary measure; after he woke all of the children he would escort them to their separate bedchambers. Now he watched Shame tiptoe tentatively to one of the blankets and sit down, all the while staring at the glittering globe with wide eyes.

Pitch allowed himself a small smile, then he turned away from Shame and towards the next sleeping child in line. This one was a boy of about a year older than the girl, with smooth, shoulder-length black hair and deathly pale skin. The instant Pitch made contact with that skin with his own hand, the child's eyes opened and locked with Pitch's. Amber with amber. Pitch smiled.

"Hello," he greeted, letting go of the boy's hand. He had a feeling this one would be a bit easier to handle.

He looked up at the Nightmare King with a blank, indifferent gaze. Pitch's smile broadened. "My name is Pitch. I am your father."

The boy nodded and got to his feet without a sound. His amber eyes flickered around his surroundings, taking everything in with a single glance. First at Pitch, then at the Nightmares, then at the other children lying peacefully behind him with their hands folded over their chests.

"Do you know your name?" Pitch asked. He knew for sure that the magic had worked for Shame, but it never hurt to double check.

The boy considered the words, then shrugged indifferently.

He was a bit annoyed by the boy's lack of verbal response and, for a second, he contemplated giving the boy a taste of nightmare sand. Then he thought better of it.

_I must be a good father to these children, _he scolded himself sternly, gazing down at the unnamed boy. _To convince them that I am on their side._

He took a deep breath and appraised the child. His golden eyes were bright with intelligence and his thin mouth had a small quirk to it. For a few minutes, neither spoke. Pitch continued to watch him for any signs of what his name might be. He had figured out Shame's name from her personality, so why couldn't he do the same for this boy?

_Let's see, _he mused silently, scanning the boy up and down. _He won't talk, and he's indifferent._

"Do you fear me?" Pitch asked, looking down and meeting the boy's unblinking gaze once again.

To Pitch's surprise, the boy didn't flinch under the glare. Instead he smiled evilly, revealing two rows of sharp, white teeth. Then he shook his head crisply and the smile melted back into indifference.

Pitch smiled in turn. "I know your name," he said confidently.

The boy cocked his head, waiting for the answer.

"You are Death," replied Pitch after a small hesitation. "The fear of passing over, whether it be oneself or others." At this, the boy nodded and smiled again.

_Death is silent, _thought Pitch as he gestured for the boy to sit next to Shame and then moved to the next child. _Death is also indifferent. Who else could he be?_

The next child was another girl, small and slight even at her six years. She had short silver-streaked black hair and she clutched a small toy against her chest. Pitch bent down and reached out to touch the toy, but she sat bolt upright and scrambled back before he could.

"Go away!" she cried. Oh, she sounded just like him. Commanding and expecting to be obeyed on the instant.

"Listen, I'm not going to hurt you," Pitch said as gently as he could. Even though he was the Boogeyman and it was his job to be the bump in the night, he still jumped a bit when she sat up and spoke so quickly.

"This is mine!" she snapped, hugging the toy. He could see now that it was a small, dirty doll with a grimy black skirt, black yarn hair, and black button eyes. It looked well worn, yet loved.

"I'm not going to take it," he said slowly, reaching out for her hand. "My name is Pitch, and I am your father."

The girl stopped trying to escape him and froze, staring at him with her stormy grey eyes. "F — father?" she repeated, still clutching the doll like it was the most important thing she'd ever owned. Considering who she'd been, it probably was.

"Yes. And I think I know your name," he added.

"My name?" she repeated, frowning.

"Yes. Your name is Loss. You are the fear of the temporal things of life being taken."

Her eyes widened, then a small smile crept across her face and those deep grey eyes began to glow with a mischievous, yet cautious light that gave the impression of a thief. Pitch gestured over to where Shame and Death were sitting. "Your brother and sister are over there. Would you like to sit by them?"

Loss shrugged and sprang up lithely. He watched her as she stepped up to a blanket and plopped down, glaring at Death and Shame. Oh, this would definitely be an interesting few years.

"Don't steal my name!" she called to him as he turned to the next child in line.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Loss," Pitch said, smiling humorlessly. _Now, onto the next one._

The next boy, who was about seven years old like Death, also had black hair, but it was curly and pure black, not even reflecting the barest hint of any light. Pitch reached down, brushed aside the kid's bangs, and put a hand on his pale forehead. Even after that it took several seconds for the cold contact to register in the boy's sleeping mind and for him to wake up. When he did, Pitch saw that his eyes were coal-black, devoid of all color and light — even the whites of his eyes looked somehow dark — and, for a moment, he considered giving this one a plain name, like Coal. But he dismissed this thought as soon as it appeared. That would be ridiculous. The child had to have a name that explained his personality and his specific brand of fear.

He smiled stiffly, helping the boy up. "My name is Pitch. I'm your father." He was getting used to repeating the lie so many times, and he knew that he would have to say it many times more.

The boy nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. Do I have a name?" he asked. His voice was smooth and inquisitive, so much like Pitch's own that it slightly unnerved him. His mouth was set in a blank, curious smile, which actually looked kind of cute with the sprinkling of freckles on his cheeks.

"I'm not sure what your name is yet," Pitch confessed. "Do you have a preference?" He hadn't asked the others this because Death would have said nothing and Shame and Loss probably would have picked girly names like Princess or Bella or something else completely unsuitable for ones of their kind.

But this boy was different. "Dark," he said seemingly without even thinking about it. "My name is Dark."

Pitch nodded. "Dark. That is appropriate. That is what all human souls fear, after all. In the deepest, primal parts of their minds they all fear the dark."

The child seemed satisfied with this. Pitch told him to sit with Shame, Death, and Loss on the blankets and he did so, without question.

Pitch then turned to the next child. This one was a five-year-old girl, with very long, thick black hair that almost reached her knees. It was spread beneath her like a nest and Pitch was briefly reminded of another child whom he'd known with hair like that. He saw her face, laughing and smiling up at him. Then her face faded away like the wisp of a distant cloud and he dismissed the thought.

_Can't stand around daydreaming, _he reminded himself, bending down to wake up the long haired girl.

Her skin was the color of burned bread, blackish brown, and when she opened her eyes Pitch was a little surprised to see they were the color of bright, fresh violets. The contrast made her look quite pretty. She grinned at him and jumped up, ignoring his hand, gaping at the room like it was the most amazing place she had ever seen. Her eyes, just like Dark's, took in the entirety of the chamber. The globe, his throne, the other children, and finally him.

"Who're you?" she asked. "What's your name? Where are we?" She then caught sight of one of the Nightmares and whirled around, letting out a delighted squeal. "Horsey!" And before Pitch could stop her, she ran towards the Nightmare and started chasing it. "Can I ride it?" she asked over her shoulder as she skipped after the panicked prancing horse. It was obviously a rhetorical question. She was going to ride it even if he said no. Which he did.

"Wha — no!" Pitch was a little confused. This child was a bit different than the first few. More energetic and child-like. It was a little distressing.

"Tough!" she called. In one swift motion, she leapt into the air, grabbed onto the somewhat disturbed horse's mane, and pulled herself onto its back in one swift motion. Pitch was about to run over to her and get her off the prancing horse the hard way, but something stopped him.

"I know your name!" he called to the girl on the horse.

She froze, as did the Nightmare she was "riding". Then both of them slowly turned their heads to face him. "You do?" the girl asked.

Pitch nodded. It was obvious, really. "Come here and I'll tell you."

She grinned and clambered up until she was standing on the Nightmare's saddle, then she jumped off the horse, almost breaking her neck in the process by getting her foot caught in the stirrup and falling towards the hard stone floor. Pitch unintentionally winced, but the girl twisted before she hit the ground and Pitch caught a flash of her bright violet eyes. There was an exulted and faintly insane light in those eyes and as she fell, she landed on her tiptoes, balancing on them for a few seconds and then tipping forward. Again, Pitch felt his heart leap into his chest and he took a step to stop her, but then she flashed him a smile and he stopped to watch her.

She effortlessly turned the tip into a smooth cartwheel, then another. She was cartwheeling around the room now and Pitch watched in amazement as she twisted again and turned it into a back handspring, rocketing up into the air like a cannonball.

_She's some kind of acrobat or something, _he thought, somewhat impressed. _She will be an excellent warrior…once I get her to listen to me._

As she flew through the air, she wrapped her arms around herself and tucked her body into a small, black-haired ball. Then gravity took over and she fell against the ground with force that would have shattered the bones of a normal person, but she bounced up into the air again almost like a rubber ball. The momentum carried her towards him, and, just as he was about to dive out of the way, she rolled to a stop about a foot away from _his _foot.

Hesitantly, he bent down and poked her head. "Um…"

She didn't reply, didn't even _move _for at least five silent seconds, then she unfurled lightning-quick and hopped to her feet, wearing a wide grin. Her eyes were still alight with that faintly insane look, but she wasn't even breathing hard. Not surprising, for some reason.

Pitch sighed. There could be no doubt about who she was.

"Well?" she asked, smiling happily. "What's my name?"

He reached down and brushed a strand of black hair from her face in a way he supposed a caring, loving father would. "You are Danger. The fear of risks and chance."

Danger gave him the pouty lip. "That's not much of a nice name," she said, crossing her arms. "And I'm not scared. I'm not scared of anything!"

Pitch shrugged. "Well, it suits you," he remarked. Part of his mind was still thinking about that stunt she'd pulled with the Nightmare. It was true. She didn't look afraid in the slightest. Then why —

She considered this. Then her pouting face vanished and was replaced with a smile. "Okay. I'm Danger."

Pitch resisted the urge to say, _Yes, you certainly are,_ but he instead told her to go sit by her siblings and wait. She obeyed, cheerfully skipping off to join the others. He watched her go and then cast his eye to the other children. Death and Shame were both silent and indifferent. Dark was rolling his eyes as if there were ten million other places he'd rather be, and seven billion people he'd rather be with. Loss was staring at Danger with a confused expression on her face. As the long-haired girl came to sit beside the others, she started talking about how fun it was to ride the "horsies".

Sighing, Pitch turned to the next child. Danger would be a bit of a challenge to handle, but he would manage. Eventually.

The sixth boy in line, one of the oldest at the age of eight, had hair the exact color of Pitch's own and styled in the exact same way. Pitch snorted. The child looked so much like him that it was uncanny. The only detail of his face that wasn't like Pitch's was his nose. Whereas Pitch's was rather large and somewhat hooked, this boy's was slender and rather unremarkable. The transformation magic, which once it was cast worked on its own, had a sense of humor.

Pitch touched the boy's forehead and he immediately jerked awake.

"Go away!" he shouted, striking out with his feet and fists wherever he could.

Pitch jumped back in surprise. Then he regained his composure as he felt the boy's fear, masked by his blustering, burning inside him. "Calm down," he said in the same gentle voice as he had used with the other children. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The boy's eyes were fierce and bright orange, almost red, and they glowed with the angry light of hot coals. Pitch involuntarily took a step back. Those eyes were just as unsettling as Danger's manic violet ones, but somehow Pitch kept his emotions in check as he smiled.

"My name is Pitch," he continued as kindly as possible. "Do you have a name?"

The boy's eyes blazed with fury and he nearly shouted, "No! I don't!"

Over on the blankets, Shame flinched, Death just sat there, Loss stroked her doll's hair somewhat creepily, Dark — who did not seem to be paying attention in the least — played shadow puppets on the wall, and Danger rolled her eyes and muttered something about anger management.

"All right, all right, no need to shout," Pitch chided somewhat anxiously.

Determinedly but unsteadily, the boy got to his feet and continued to glare at him. Pitch sighed for the umpteenth time that day. "Well, your name is evident from your actions."

The eight-year-old blinked, momentarily losing his livid expression. "Say what?"

"Your name," repeated Pitch. Every time he told them their names they seemed to calm down. Hopefully it would work for this furious boy. "You are Wrath. The fear of others' anger and hatred."

He blinked again. He seemed to be considering this. The silence in the cave was only broken by Danger's incessant chattering and the occasional flat input from Dark for her to shut up, even though and especially because no one was listening to her constant rambling.

"Wrath," said the boy after a while. "I think I can handle that." He took a step closer to Pitch. "Where am I?"

"You are in my lair. I'm your father," Pitch answered. It was a lie he'd have to live for years to come, he knew, but it was necessary if his plan was going to work.

Wrath smirked. "Right," he said slowly, obviously not believing it. Those fiery eyes had dimmed down to a gentle, pulsating flame as they traveled around the room, taking in everything. Pitch watched those eyes widen in curiosity at the sight of the Nightmares and then narrow as he saw Danger and the others. "Who're they?"

"Your brothers and sisters," said Pitch.

The indifferent smirk on Wrath's face turned into a full-out smile, which slightly unnerved Pitch with its unintentional wickedness. "Ah. Well then, I'd better go and say hello." And, out of his own accord, he walked towards the other children with a brisk, purposeful stride.

Pitch watched him go, a pride swelling in his chest that he hadn't felt since…since some time in his distant past, a time that had been lost in the memories of an immortal. It was a good kind of pride, though. A kind that he could get used to, even enjoy.

The girl following Wrath was also about eight and also had black hair, though hers was long and smooth. She was very, very pretty, even in sleep and at this young age, with flawless cinnamon-colored skin, perfect lips, silky hair, and a cute little button nose. And when Pitch woke her up with a simple touch to her cheek, he saw that she had fiery eyes as well. But these eyes were darker, like the deep crimson shade of fresh blood, and her hair was streaked with the same color.

"Hello," he said.

"Um…hello," she replied, sounding somewhat doubtful of her own voice. He offered her his arm to help her up and she took it, bracing against him to stand herself up. But when she got to her feet, she let out a cry of anguish and sank back down to the ground.

This one's name wasn't hard to figure out.

"It's okay," he soothed gently, stroking her hair and taking hold of her hands again, just like he had seen other fathers do to their beloved daughters. Somehow it was easy, as if he'd done it before. "Just bear through the pain, Pain."

She gave him a strange look but did as he asked, trying to get to her feet again. When she did, this time she stayed up.

"Thank you," she whispered gratefully.

It had been a while — no, eternity — since he had heard those words spoken to him with such sincerity. So it took him a while to recover the correct response. "You're welcome," he said as he helped her limp over to the blankets where the other six sat. "My name is Pitch. I'm your father."

"My — my father?" she stammered, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

_Always with the wide eyes, _he thought. "Yes. I am your father, and you are my daughter Pain. You are the fear of harm, physical or mental."

She didn't seem to hear the last part and, if she did, she obviously did not care much. After giving him a small and grateful smile, she sat down next to Danger and started talking shyly with her, glancing every so often over at Wrath.

Pitch shook his head, then he headed back to the children. This eighth one in line was a six-year-old boy, skinny and pale like the rest. But contrary to all that he had seen so far, he had long dark brown hair and when he awoke at Pitch's touch, almond-shaped green eyes stared up at him.

"Hey," he said flatly.

Pitch blinked. The kid sounded tired, of all things. He had been sleeping for _months!_ How in darkness could he be _tired?!_

He cleared his throat. "Are you all right?"

The boy nodded without comment.

"Well, I am your father. My name is Pitch," he said, trying and failing yet again to sound gentle.

The child nodded, again without comment.

They both sat in silence for a few endless moments. The boy had folded his pale hands over his bony knees and propped his head on his knuckles.

Pitch coughed uncomfortably. "Do you know your name?" he inquired, trying to move things along.

Without taking his eyes off the Nightmare King, the boy shook his head once.

Pitch blinked. Well, he didn't really know either. This child gave no hints about his name. If he didn't already know better, he would have said that the boy was Death. But that was ridiculous. Death was right behind him and honestly, he didn't think that a soft-looking boy with such vivid green eyes — like the green of fresh grass — could ever be Death.

"Well, er, would you like to go sit with the others?" asked Pitch, gesturing to the seven children sitting by the glittering globe.

The boy shrugged and slowly, steadily, sluggishly, got to his feet and drifted over to the group of children. He sat on the farthest blanket away from the other children, pulled his legs towards his chest, and stuck his thumb into his mouth.

_Interesting, _Pitch thought.

And then Danger had the folly to scramble over to her new brother. "Hi!" she greeted cheerily. "What's your name?"

The nameless boy just pulled his legs closer and turned away.

Pitch knew he should be trying to wake the other children, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the boy with the green eyes. Now Danger was tapping his shoulder, trying to get him to talk to her.

"Hello, hello, hello," she persisted, poking him on the shoulder when he didn't say anything. "I'm right here, you know. You can answer me. What's your name?" She took the following silence as an answer. "He didn't give you a name? Wow. He gave me a name. I'm Danger, but that's a bit long. I'm thinking of shortening it. Dang…nah, that doesn't sound right." Dark snickered and whispered something derogatory about Danger to Death, which the former didn't seem to hear. She just kept talking. "Maybe Ger. But that doesn't sound right either. Dannie, maybe…?"

The boy mumbled something and Danger tilted her head, cupping her hand against her ear. "I didn't hear that. What'd you say?"

"Go away," the boy said tiredly, plucking his thumb out of his mouth with a wet _pop _before he spoke and then sticking it back in after his two words were uttered.

Danger blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said _go away. _I just want to be left alone," he insisted, closing his eyes and leaning even farther away from her. She scootched a few inches closer.

"Danger!" Pitch called. "Leave him alone. Oh, and boy." The green-eyed child looked up. "I know your name."

For the first time since he'd awoken, those eyes lit with interest. "Really?"

"Yes. You are Solitude," said Pitch from across the room. "The fear of being left alone, and the fear of total and complete independence."

Solitude's face split into a smile and he inclined his head respectfully. He still never took that thumb out of his mouth. Pitch took a note of which hand it was on and reminded himself never to let the kid touch him with that hand. It was his right hand.

So eight down, four to go.

The next girl, the ninth, looked a lot like Shame, except that her hair was grey instead of silver and obscured her face entirely. Even though he could not see her face, she seemed, to him, somehow older than the rest.

At his touch she sat up slowly, keeping her head bent forward.

"Hello," greeted Pitch uncomfortably.

She did not speak.

"Can you talk?" asked Pitch.

She nodded weakly and emitted a raspy sound that might have been a yes.

"Don't worry, your voice will return," he assured her. "Here. Let me help you up."

Frantically, she shook her head, still keeping her face hidden behind her veil of hair. Pitch was confused.

"You can walk…can't you?"

She shook her head again.

He bent down farther to inspect her feet. They were thin, grey, and bony, like the rest of her, and they didn't look damaged too badly. Dirty, callused, and cut, maybe, but not enough to stop her from walking.

"Why can't you walk?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Can't."

Pitch leaned back and frowned. She couldn't walk, she kept her face hidden, and she could barely speak. But even through this afflicted shell of low, blatant misery and affliction he sensed a hidden power within her, an angry flashing core hidden inside. Well, that pointed to only one name. But he had to be sure before he told her.

"Can you push back your hair?" he asked.

She shook her head more violently than when he had asked her to walk.

He hesitated before uttering the next word. "Please?" It felt strange and new on his tongue. He hadn't said it with an honest truth for a long time.

But the girl only shook her head again.

Pitch sighed. He knew she wasn't going to do it of her own accord, so he snapped his fingers and a cord of nightmare sand trickled from his palm, writhing and wriggling until he knelt and released it by the girl's ear. It hung limply for a few seconds, entangled in that mat of hair. Then, before she could do anything about it, the cord twisted around her hair, behind her neck, and back around. It looped her hair into a loose ponytail and pulled it back so that Pitch could see her face clearly.

"Oh," he said, once he had gotten over his initial shock at seeing her. Her eyes were closed and Pitch saw a tear running down her cheek. "I'm sorry." This, like the please, was actually genuine.

The girl's seven-year-old face was mottled with bruises and her lip was swollen. Scratches and cuts ran across her sickly grey face — the transformation magic had refused to touch them. Pitch had known how she'd gotten the wounds, but he had never seen her face clearly until now. He somehow knew that these wounds would never go away, just like Loss would never allow anyone to touch her doll and Danger would always take risks. It was the same thing, though he wished he could clean it up for her and she would heal.

_But then she wouldn't be who she is, _he thought sadly.

"I'm…" Pitch stopped. Trying to get the words out to this silently agonized child was hard. He could not take his eyes off her flawed, scarred face. Just because he was an egotistical fear spirit with plans of world domination didn't mean that he would ever physically hurt a child — and such a display of meek, helpless suffering went against even what few flawed morals he had. "I'm your father."

"Who — " she stammered in her hoarse voice, "who — did…this — to me?"

Pitch lowered his head. He could not tell her who'd done it; he wouldn't dare mention them at all. But that spark of light inside of him, that shred of goodness buried and trampled on by the demons that made him who he was, was still persisting, and it had told him on the day that life with him would probably be better than life with the family that didn't care for her. That was why he had chosen her as the ninth of his new children.

"I don't know," he lied. "But I know your name."

For the first time her eyes opened, but with a struggle, as if she didn't know if she should or even could. They were a washed out shade of nondescript grey and, like Solitude's, very tired. But this was the exhaustion of defeat, of torment, of suffering…

"My name?" she rasped. Pitch reflected that her voice seemed less harsh and afflicted now, though it might never completely clear.

"Yes. You are Suffering," he said finally. "The fear of abuse, physical or mental, and of hardships."

The girl nodded and the cord of nightmare sand broke, letting her hair fall loosely around and over her pockmarked face like a grey curtain once more.

"I understand," she whispered from behind the veil.

The Nightmare King turned his gaze from her hidden face down to her cut and bruised feet. It was clear that she could not walk, so he picked her up as gently as he could and carried her to one of the last blankets by the globe.

"There you go," he said awkwardly, setting her down. She was as still and quiet as a stone.

"Danger, leave her alone," he ordered over his shoulder as he walked to the next child.

Danger pouted, "Why?"

"Because I said so!" Pitch snapped. Oh yes, he was going to have trouble with this one. It was going to be a long next few years.

It wasn't the first time he had thought it, nor would it be the last.

The tenth child was a boy, abnormally tall for his seven years, and had neat grey hair combed over in a style that a much older man would have approved of. His nose was large, almost as large as Pitch's, but his face was squarer in shape. Pitch stared at this child long and hard, then he shook the boy's shoulder. He sat up hesitantly, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

"Hello," Pitch said.

The boy did not answer for a while, still yawning and rubbing his eyes.

Pitch tapped the boy on the shoulder again. "Hello?"

His hands dropped and he stared at Pitch with something akin to curiosity. "Hello?" he repeated slowly. His voice was surprisingly deep for one so young and lined with a distinctive British accent.

Pitch smiled stiffly. All of this smiling was making his face sore — how the heck did those peppy Guardians do it so much? "Hello to you, too. I'm your father, Pitch."

Something akin to shock flashed across the boy's face, and he blinked. "What did you just call me?"

Pitch stiffened. He'd heard all the jokes about his name, but they'd never been this direct. "What? No, no. I wasn't…I wasn't addressing you. I was saying that my name is _Pitch._"

This strangely serious-looking boy raised an eyebrow and frowned. "You…_are _aware that it is usually used in the derogatory sense…?"

"No, not — that," the Nightmare King groaned. He could literally _feel _the blood rushing to his face. "_Pitch, _with a _P, _as in _Pitch Black…"_

Over by the blankets, Wrath, Dark, Danger, and Shame all burst into laughter. Death even cracked a smile. Pitch sent them a loathing glare and they instantly shut up.

"Ah," said the boy, completely poker faced. "I see. You're my father?"

Pitch nodded, still a bit frazzled by the recent beginning-consonant-sounds episode. "Er…yes." He offered his hand to help the boy to his feet. They got up, but Pitch found that when the boy stood straight, he was only two feet shorter than the Nightmare King. Interesting. He hadn't been like that before.

"Do I have a name?" asked the boy in his low voice.

"I'm sure you do," his adoptive father replied. "But it will take some time to figure it out.

"How long?"

Pitch hesitated. "I don't know."

The boy looked him up and down for a while, then, when Pitch was getting a bit annoyed and uncomfortable with the close scrutiny, he asked, "Why is your hair like that?"

Pitch's hand instinctively flew up to his head to check his hair. This was the only one of the children so far who had made a personal remark like that. "It's naturally that way," he insisted, patting the black spikes that stuck out like a crest of feathers.

"Huh. And what about that outfit?"

Now Pitch was just getting annoyed. "You're the one wearing rags."

The boy looked down at his tattered pants and torn shirt. "Ah," he sighed. "But at least it's not a dress."

Pitch smiled wryly, too preoccupied to protest as to the technical name of the dress/robe thing that he always wore. "Now I know your name," he said. It had been the personal remarks that had given the name away.

"Really? What is it?" the boy asked, for once not scornful.

"Judgment," Pitch said proudly. "You are the fear of facing punishment and of the thoughts of others."

Judgment inclined his head, seemingly satisfied. "I was thinking of just that. Is there somewhere I can sit down?"

Pitch gestured towards the blankets and the abnormally tall and old-looking boy nodded, reaching the other children in three long strides.

_Two more to go,_ Pitch thought happily. _Then I can start preparing them for their parts in my plan._

The second to last child in the row, a five-year-old girl who also had black hair, took a little longer to wake up than any of the others so far. At first, she yawned and rolled over, mumbling something about sleeping in before going stone still again. When Pitch finally managed to wake her by shaking her shoulder and yelling into her ear, she stared at him with blue eyes so vivid they almost seemed purple.

These eyes blinked in surprise. "Um…hello," the girl said hesitantly before he could.

"Hello," Pitch replied stiffly, hunkering down to her level. All of this stooping was making his back hurt. If normal fathers did this as much as he had just done in the past twenty minutes, no wonder that elderly people suffered from chronic back pains. And this was coming from someone who was…um…oh, just forget it. Darkness knew how old he really was. "I'm your father. My name is Pitch Black."

"Oh. Hi Dad," the girl said crisply. This one was the American, that much was obvious. He was somewhat fascinated as to the change that had occurred in her — it was almost eerie how many scars could be washed away like this.

He smiled stiffly. Oh, his poor facial muscles burned like the blazes. "Do you know your name?" he asked. By now he was relatively convinced that the memory magic had worked, but it never hurt to double check.

The five-year-old frowned as she thought before shaking her shaggy head. Her hair was short, almost to a boy's length, but choppy and unkempt and all in her face, as if she had cut it with safety scissors and had never heard of the invention called a headband. "Nope. Sorry."

"Oh, no need to be sorry," said Pitch dismissively. "I am sure we'll figure it out."

The girl's face suddenly turned dark and angry, as if storm clouds had suddenly gathered. A strangely familiar kind of light flickered in her eyes — no, not light. _Lightning. _Pure electricity crackled in her sky blue eyes, causing Pitch to almost flinch with its intensity.

"Of course we'll figure it out!" she snapped, crossing her arms. "I'm not going to live the rest of my life without my name!"

"Easy. Easy," he blustered, like he would do with a riled-up Nightmare. Except that this wasn't a Nightmare, this was an independent, very angry human girl, albeit a human girl with the endurance and powers of an immortal. "I just meant that — "

"You just meant that I would have to live without a name!" she cried. "But I won't! I'll find my name! I will!"

Pitch sighed. "I'm not trying to say that you won't."

The girl's face suddenly went blank. Then she smiled. "Oh. Sorry about that," she said apologetically. "I didn't mean to be rude. You were saying?"

Frazzled, Pitch blinked. "Um, okay," he said uncertainly. Then the little invisible lightbulb blinked on above his head. "Oh, I think I know your name."

"Really?"

"Yes. Your name is Tempest, the fear of the raw power of earth and nature."

Tempest grinned. "Cool!" she exclaimed, getting to her feet. "Then, ah, I think I'll go over to those other guys over there."

Pitch swore he felt the calm damp air in the cavern begin to whip up as she got up and he was almost positive that she was walking an inch above the stone floor. But that was impossible; they only had some of their powers right now and he could remember nothing about giving her powers over the wind, because he didn't really have any of his own. Oh well. Who knew, maybe she'd had the powers before he took her in. Hades had said something about kids like those once. Shaking his head, he turned his eyes away from the Eleventh and towards the Twelfth.

This last child was tiny and curled up into a tight ball, hugging his knees close to his chest. There was a faded greyish-yellow blanket wrapped tightly around his body and over his head, hiding his face in shadow. If Pitch had not selected the children individually and did not know that there were exactly six females and six males, he would have been challenged to figure out what gender this child might be. The only things visible of the boy outside of the nondescript blanket were two tiny bare feet so pale that the bluish-grey veins could be seen spiderwebbing underneath the nearly translucent skin.

"Um…hello?" Pitch said hesitantly, nudging the boy's shoulder. As Pitch waited, watching him carefully, there were no signs of movement or even life and he was getting a bit worried. Could the transformation magic kill a person…?

"Wake up," commanded Pitch, shaking the child's shoulder. But he stubbornly refused to wake or even move. "Boy!" he snapped, more insistently this time.

There was nothing. Not even a twitch.

He was getting worried. All the children had been perfect, or capable of being fixed to perfection. Not a hair had been out of place — figuratively, of course, as Suffering's covered her entire face. Selective mutism, antisocial qualities, anger management issues, and weak legs could all be fixed. But a dead child…

In a flash of anger, Pitch clenched his fists. He knew that this had been too good to be true! Twelve was too many! He knew there were bound to be some small problems with such an advanced plan, but he hadn't anticipated _this!_ The boy refused to even move, let alone talk to him. He was obviously the weakest of the twelve; the runt of the litter, as it were. At least, if he was even alive. Of course, being immortal and physically incapable of showing vital signs, Pitch was unaware as to how to check if someone was alive or dead.

"BOY!" he bellowed a final time, tearing the blanket back. "Wake — " Then he froze, staring at the shaggy head beneath the blanket. The hair was pure white streaked with silver, like freshly fallen snow.

"FROST?!" he nearly shrieked, shoving the child onto his back.

No, no, no. It wasn't Frost. He wouldn't dare come here! Not only that, but this boy was too small, young, and skinny. Small, young, and skinny as the winter spirit was, he wasn't…this. _This _was someone else. Some_thing _else…

Pitch scrutinized the boy's four-year-old face. His eyes were closed and his face was the color of powdered milk. His features were unmemorable — no, not just that. Unmemorable would be an understatement. Every time Pitch blinked, he had to try to remember what he looked like. Hands nearly shaking, he stepped back a pace, wondering if the Twelfth Child could possibly be dead. His skin was cold enough that he could have been. The plan would work fine with just eleven, but…what would he do with the body?

_No. _It was impossible. He couldn't be dead. He'd been very much alive that night, and that magic _couldn't_ have killed him_. _He was strong enough…right?

Long moments — no, minutes — passed and still the boy did not move. Pitch was getting agitated.

"All right, that's it. I am sorry that I have to do this, but he just won't wake up." Pitch summoned a strand of nightmare sand and knelt next to the limp form on the ground. Taking the boy's chin in his free hand, Pitch forcefully opened his mouth and sent the tendril of sand down his throat. There. That would wake him up for sure.

And sure enough, as soon as Pitch closed his mouth, the boy began to thrash.

Pitch smiled, but it wasn't the stiff, fake smile he had been using with the children. This was a sinister smile, his vampire smile, the one that literally struck fear into hearts. "Finally. A result."

The boy squirmed and gasped, then he curled up into the ball again and moved no more. Pitch stared, confused. The sand should've — no. That was when another spasm shook the boy's whole body and jolted him out of his position. He lay there on the cold stones of the floor, coughing and gasping for breath, but still not opening his eyes. In fact he now seemed determined to keep them closed as he balled his tiny fists and squeezed his eyelids shut.

"Come on," Pitch snarled. "Wake up!"

As the boy tucked his head in as if to hide his face, the black sand began to pour out of his every orifice. His nose, his ears, his mouth. There was even some leaking out from beneath his eyelids, like he was crying. But this was not the strange part — the truly strange part was when Pitch saw that as the sand made its way back out into air, it was tainted with grains of silver and shimmered like a mirage.

He bent down. "Come," he ordered the silver sand. After a second of hesitation, it obeyed, curling up into an orb that quickly darkened to its usual black as he regained control of it and disappearing as he crushed it in his fingers.

"Wake up," he ordered, more gently this time but still firmly. "Come on. Wake."

The boy just shuddered and tried to curl up again, but Pitch would have none of that.

"Open your eyes or I shall send the sand in again," he snapped, gripping the boy's thin arm.

He did not move, and Pitch released him and turned away in disgust.

"Useless," he spat as he strode towards the other, wide-eyed children, intent on getting them to get this last child up. "Too afraid to even move. He can't even see — " Pitch froze at his own words. "He can't see…can he?" he repeated slowly, turning around to stare at the boy again.

The child was still curled up in the same position, trembling uncontrollably as if invisible beings tormented him.

"I know your name," Pitch said, knowing he could hear him.

The boy shivered and stiffened, but he didn't raise his head or uncurl as Pitch had thought he would.

He sighed and crossed the stone floor, back to the boy. He knelt down one more time.

"Get up, Unknown."

That was his name. Unknown. The fear of things invisible and unknown. At the sound of it, the boy jerked again and uncurled partially from his strange position, finally raising his head as if curious to find out what the strange noises outside the darkness meant, but was too scared to look. His eyes were still closed, so Pitch commanded, "Open your eyes."

Unknown obeyed. But to Pitch's surprise, the eyes were not dark, nor were they light. They were colorless and clear and filled with a strange, unidentifiable glimmer of intelligence that disproved his former theory that the child couldn't see. Not white, like a blind boy's, nor were they any other color in the spectrum. They reminded Pitch of twin pools of glass, reflecting his own face in their depths, along with fear, confusion, and a tiny light of hope.

"Unknown," said Pitch, "I am your father. You don't need to fear me."

The child stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Those unusually large, reflective eyes were wide, as if he couldn't imagine that something so wonderful as a father might be his.

"Come. I must introduce you to your brothers and sisters." Pitch reached for the boy's thin hand and pulled him up. Surprisingly, Unknown balanced and walked perfectly fine on those frighteningly thin bare feet. He didn't speak the whole time Pitch introduced him to his sisters and brothers and he only raised his head once, when Death's name was called. The two boys shared a look and, for the briefest instant, Pitch was sure that Unknown had let a smile flicker across his face.

_It makes sense, _he mused to himself. _The unknown and death go hand in hand._

When all was said and done, he escorted the children to the rooms that had been specially prepared for them and told them to make themselves comfortable, maybe clean up a bit before their first family dinner. It would be in an hour and specially catered by Gluttony, who was well known throughout the spirit world as not only an amazing eater but also an amazing cook. (Pitch knew that the selfish embodiment of that deadly sin would hold it over his head for centuries to come, but he had to feed these kids somehow.)

He reclined in his throne after the last door had been shut, listening to the faint sounds of the children as they explored their wing of the lair. Now that they had all been awakened from the transformations, he could begin planning in earnest. All of them had powers, he knew, and all of them had potential for evil. Well, he reconsidered, possibly not Shame or Danger. They both still seemed so…_human._

"Well, no matter," he dismissed aloud, looking at the globe beside him. So many lights…he just wanted to blot them out in one rage-induced sweep of his hand. But the time was not yet right, and he himself had not the strength to wield such power. That was what the children were for. "I'm sure they will grow out of it."

Yes, they would, but what about Unknown? Pitch had a very, very bad feeling about the boy — or lack of feeling whatsoever. He'd felt his own power in each of the others, but not this last one. And when he had been brought to his room he just stood in the center, unmoving as his mirror-like eyes took in everything around him.

"Unknown will show his power soon," said the Nightmare King confidently, pushing aside his doubts. The magic was guaranteed, after all. He had put just as much of his own power into that scrap of a boy as the rest of them. Possibly more.

Involuntarily he let out a low chuckle. This time, things would be different. Oh, so different. He remembered when he'd relied entirely on his own creations — the dreams he'd turned into Nightmares. It was a bit different to turn children into soldiers.

_My children are ready, _he thought as he stared up at the ceiling where the Man in the Moon watched from high above his caves. _Are your Guardians, old friend?_

* * *

><p><strong>I have a really bad feeling that this thing's going to have more puns in it than The Pun War of '13…<strong>

**Don't try to memorize all twelve Nightmare Children right now. Seriously, it's a whole lot easier if you just go with the flow and learn them as the story progresses.**


	2. Release

**Thanks for all your awesome reviews!**

**FisherofMen: No, she'd be dead by now, as this story mainly takes place in 2024, but that'd be cool! Thanks anyway. :)  
>FlightFeathers: Wow. That actually helps a lot…everyone else, listen up. This was a review. I want to know what you think about the characters and what questions about them you'd like answered, because this is a huge thing for me dealing with so many different personalities.<br>chibissima: Good point. I was debating on whether or not to advertise the pairings, but I decided not to. There will be minor subplot-types of crushy high school romance/drama, but they will NOT influence the plot.  
>Ice Child and The Puppeteer: Hmm…interesting. Could be a subcategory of Solitude and some of Judgment, like the fear of being responsible for yourself and the consequences of your own choices. But I've already written most of the story with these twelve and it's too late to turn back now, sorry! :(<br>Guest number 1: …wow, son. If that ain't deep, I don't know what is.  
>chocykitty: First of all, how dare you.<br>Guest number 2: *looks around warily* Uhh…I get the feeling that you're all looking forward to an adorable, embarrassing-for-Pitch fic in which the kids are their cute preschool selves and melt his dark heart…I wish it could've happened that way, but…somehow it didn't. *cries* I'm trying my hand a few headcanons though…maybe in a drabble series later, but not here.**

**Meh.**

XXXXXXXXX

**Ten years later…**

Wrath's axe thudded into the bulls-eye of the target with terrifying speed and force. His fifteen-year-old sister Tempest whistled. "Not bad," she remarked.

The tall, muscular warrior was standing twenty feet away from the target, thus making Tempest's comment a complete understatement. The eighteen-year-old glared at her. "Do you think you can do better?"

She considered this for a few moments, idly fingering the feather of one of her black arrows. "Actually, yes. I do. Except that I could do the same with an arrow from two hundred feet, not just twenty." The fifteen-year-old gave that charming, icy smile that made Wrath want to just punch her face in. Then again, this was a common feeling for him.

"If you think — " he tried to argue, but then his other sister, Danger, raised one of her sharp, red-bladed throwing knives.

"Wrath," she sang in a seemingly cheerful voice that was much more dangerous than a snarl would have been, "remember your anger management."

Even though the lithe, long-haired Danger was a good thirty feet away and also perched on the top of the climbing wall, Wrath did not disobey her — she had a very sharp knife in her hand. He nodded sullenly and stepped aside to let her throw. Almost leisurely she flicked this knife, and it flashed across and down the room towards the target, which was a total of fifty feet away. Wrath expected the familiar _thunk_ of the knife on the target, but it didn't come. Instead he nearly jumped out of his skin when the knife impaled itself on the hilt of his axe, sticking in the inch-wide base of its black wooden handle with terrifying accuracy.

Tempest rolled her stormy blue eyes, along with several of the other Nightmare Children in the training room. "Oh, please," she sniffed. She strode away towards the back of their training room, as if to leave, but she didn't. She stopped and stood facing the wall, with her hand gripping her black bow. Then, in the space of a few seconds, she swerved around, loaded her bow, and fired off three shots in succession. One arrow thudded into the target a half centimeter from the top blade of Wrath's double-sided axe, the second arrow landed exactly a half centimeter from the lower blade, and the third arrow was shot seemingly into nowhere.

"Nice shot," said Shame sarcastically from across the room.

Tempest smiled again. But this one was not the mocking, sickly sweet one; it was a terrifying smile, one that sent shivers down the entire length of your body and could freeze a lake in July. "I thought you might say that."

And at that moment, a heavy sand-filled punching bag, which had been held up by a rope that had just been severed by Tempest's third arrow, dropped right on top of Shame and almost flattened her into a Nightmare Child pancake.

Tempest blew her choppy black bangs out of her carefully mascaraed eyes. Hey, just because she was a kick-butt archer with annoying perfect Mary Sue tendencies doesn't mean she didn't have to strive to look pretty. She took an hour each morning to do her hair and makeup. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a demonstration of how _not _to antagonize people."

Pain, Suffering, and Judgment, who had been earnestly debating the ancient arts of medieval torture methods versus modern-day exercise equipment, laughed. Everyone else just rolled their eyes. Shame sobbed big fat tears as she flailed her limbs and tried to get out from underneath the heavy punching bag.

"Showoff," remarked Dark to Death, referring to Tempest of course.

Then Tempest's cocky smile vanished when she heard the two gentle _fwips _and saw what had happened to her black wood arrows. They had both been split down the middle, each by a single, four-pointed throwing star. They all looked over to Loss, who, at the back of the training room, was polishing her other silver stars carefully with the dress of a small black doll.

"What?" the sixteen-year-old said innocently. "Someone had to shut her up."

At this, most of the others laughed or smiled. The exceptions were Tempest, whose face was creeping with red and who was muttering something about really hating wooden arrows, and a lone boy in the shadows, who was sneaking towards the door in an effort not to be seen. It didn't work, though — Solitude had something of an internal radar for those kinds of people, and glanced over to him.

Death also noticed him. "Unknown," he called over the sounds of Shame attacking Tempest. "You wanna show off those skills with that stick of yours? I need an opponent." Usually Tempest was his fighting partner, except that she was a bit held up at the moment. She and Shame were now really going at it, and Wrath was being forced to intercede even though he was quite frankly enjoying the fight.

The grey-hooded boy in the shadows froze. He gripped the "stick" — which was actually a long silver quarterstaff, a six-foot shaft with a weighted metal knob on each end — and shook his head mutely.

Dark came up beside Death. "Wow. Has he ever _not _rejected an offer to train?"

Death bit his tongue and remained impassive. He didn't find many things particularly amusing but one of them was knowing something that everyone else should but no one did. So he just shrugged.

"That's bloody unfair," Dark grumbled, folding his arms. "He doesn't show up for war games and no one says a word, but I don't show up for war games and Father revokes my dessert privileges?"

Death sighed. _Here we go again, _he thought.

"Solitude, too!" Dark threw his hands up in the air, groaning. "And Danger! She gets away with, like, everything, and Dad doesn't do anything! I don't see why Father even keeps them around!"

Death sighed and slapped his brother on the shoulder before sitting down on a rock to polish an imaginary spot on his scythe blade. Honestly, his brother really perplexed him sometimes. Seventeen, six foot three, strong enough to actually stand a chance in a fistfight with Wrath, stealthy and creepy as all Hades especially with his weird smile and habit of never taking off his sunglasses — and yet the epitome of a middle school nerd with the cutesy freckles and naïveté. Well, at least he had the good sense of when to be cool and calm and when to be blatantly, annoyingly ignorant. "Get a therapist, Dark. You need someone to talk to." He smirked wryly. "I'll even pay him for you."

"Really?"

"Anything to shut you up."

Dark frowned. "I really don't like you."

Death just nodded and smiled. This conversation was a near-daily thing, but it never got old.

Unknown was still standing there in the shadows. It was almost like he was waiting, asking silently, _Am I needed?_

Dark peered at his brother. "I can't believe it. It's been like ten years and I can't remember a word he's said to me."

Death stared at the black-clad boy beside him. "Ten years and you don't know if he can talk."

His brother smiled a purposefully stupid smile. "Oh, I know he can. I just forgot what he said."

Death had an impulse to knock Dark upside the head with the shaft of his black scythe. The kid could be such a bonehead sometimes. Solitude intruded before he could give in to the annoyance, which was one of the few emotions Death ever felt.

"He talks," the Eighth Nightmare Child said quietly. "Usually to himself, but he talks. Remember the dinner incident?"

Both boys stared at Solitude. They were staring at him mostly because until now, he had been playing his Nintendo DS in the shadowy corner alone and hadn't wanted to come out. Currently he was sucking the thumb of his right hand while clutching his long spear tightly in the other.

Dark shrugged. "Nah. Short term memory loss."

"Long term memory loss, you mean," Death added dryly, knowing what would come next.

"Don't forget short term," said Dark. His face was completely free of guile when Death peered at it and, since the kid was still wearing the stupid sunglasses, he couldn't tell what was in his eyes either.

Solitude looked over to where Unknown was still standing, running his thin white fingers down the shaft of his quarterstaff. As always, he wore the hood of his faded grey sweatshirt over his head, shadowing his face. Solitude, Dark, and Death saw a glimpse under that hood when the boy turned and glanced back at them for a second, but he turned away before any of them could focus on those elusive silver orbs.

"Unknown," Death called again, intent on getting some kind of reaction from his youngest sibling, but he caught Solitude's tired, almond-shaped green eyes and the light in them he saw told him to say no more.

"Leave him be," said Solitude quietly. "He just wants to be alone, that's all." Seriously, how did that kid talk with his thumb in his mouth like that?

Death sighed. "He's always alone. Sometimes, I think that Dad should have named _him _Solitude."

Solitude sniffed and rubbed his wet thumb on the flat side of his spearhead as if to polish it, but in the long run just smearing it more. "He would have done a horrible job at it. The job's hard, believe it or not."

Death said nothing, and Dark had long since gotten distracted and was playing with a shadow. Solitude was slowly drifting away from the other two boys. "What? No, no," he kept muttering.

"Voices in his head again?" inquired Dark, staring at the eccentric boy with the tired green eyes, the long brown hair, and the way-too-big clothes as he staggered away.

Death confirmed it with a nod. "On a completely unrelated topic, I wonder if Dad would mind having another kid and naming it Insanity? People fear insanity, right?"

Dark considered this. "Hmm. That might be interesting. Wonder if Danger would mind taking that name."

Death looked over to where Danger had all-too-eagerly joined Tempest's and Shame's fight. There was insanity in all three girls' eyes, especially Danger's.

Then he glanced over to where Unknown had once been standing. The boy was gone without a trace.

"Actually," amended Death, "I don't think we need a Nightmare Child to represent insanity."

"Why not?"

"We all have enough of it ourselves.

XXXXXXXXX

Their father called them to the throne room after training time was over. Everyone was there, even Solitude and Unknown. Today was special, they all knew. It was ten years to the day since Pitch claimed to have brought them out of the dark sand that held them captive, and called them his children. Ten years and ten months since he was cast down from the world above by those despicable Guardians. They all knew about the Guardians. Of course they did. Pitch had brought them up to know and hate them.

Pitch scanned them one by one as they stood before him. They didn't look like much, it was true. If mortals could see them, which they actually _could _(one of the many reasons Pitch tried to keep them inside the lair) they would see twelve moody-looking teens, none of them older than eighteen. But the weapons they held disproved that.

It had been a hard ten years. He had tried so hard to act as their loving father, and in return, they did what he told them to…mostly. He brought them up on his own, teaching them how to use weapons, ride Nightmares, manipulate dream sand, manipulate minds, shadow travel, plan sieges, fight unarmed, survive in the wild, escape prison cells, and all of those other life skills necessary to a young soldier. Because they weren't immortal. No, far from it. Even with Pitch's power inside of them, they were still very, so very _human _that it was almost worth considering not using them. But they were the perfect weapons. More powerful than any Nightmares he could ever create.

Yes, there had been some obstacles. Yes, it had been _extremely _awkward at times. After all, being a single immortal father of twelve adoptive mortal children was no easy task. He'd forced himself to read parenting books and research how to bring up kids. He'd had to renovate the entire lair and annex a kitchen, bathrooms, and a dining room — because after all, being an immortal came with its benefits, among which were lack of mortal bodily functions. And since the kids' original bodies were still mortal…well, it was not a pleasant job for the coping father.

He'd had to "get with the times" as the children grew older, because even though he tried to separate them from the mortal world as much as possible, they still managed to wiggle out there. Soon each child had an iPod, an iHome, a laptop, or all three in their rooms. And along with the kitchen, bathrooms, and dining room, Pitch had had to build a screening room for the kids to watch TV and a rec room for them to play video games and stuff in. They each had a phone (some, like Solitude, barely used them at all; and others, like Danger, broke and/or lost so many that Pitch had banned them from having any more) and spent many hours calling or texting their immortal friends — among which were the Grim Reaper, the four violent Wind Spirits, the Seven Deadly Sins, and some of the more shadowy, foreign immortals like Hades, Melinoe, Loki, Anubis, et cetera. (Pitch suspected that Dark was having secret meetings with Nyx, the Greek goddess of night, but this was never proven.)

And when they had first awoken, there had been some definite problems — Shame's incessant crying, Danger's hyperactivity, Wrath's temper problems, Suffering's paralyzed legs, et cetera — but over time, these things were (somewhat) fixed. With lots and lots of trial and error and frustration, they were now mostly manageable.

Shame still cried a lot, but they were mostly angry tears. No one ever made fun of her for crying, because they would either get a feel of her sharp silver dagger or find that some piece of humiliating information had been pulled from her vast store of blackmail material.

Death found his voice. He didn't use it more than he needed to, and when he did, it was often sharp and stinging yet irritatingly wise. A habit that Pitch had grown annoyed of, but he ignored it because it was just in the boy's nature and he couldn't change it.

Loss began to open up a bit more to people, but when she did, she also began honing her skills as a pickpocket and a thief. It was extremely annoying, but since her throwing stars were extremely sharp and she was extremely good with them, people usually left her alone. She was ridiculously paranoid and had booby-trapped her room and anything she didn't want other people touching.

Dark was probably one of the most obedient, but one of the messiest and most annoying. (Quite frankly, they were all annoying.) No one ever dared enter his room, because it was always completely dark in there and there were always things piled on the floor. How the owner of the room managed to maneuver through the mess in the pure dark was mystifying yet not much of a mystery. He had perfect night vision.

Danger had been ADHD in her human life and was even more now — way more, and to make it worse she was equipped with energy that literally never ran out — so she was given stimulants to help her. They worked only 10% of the time, but it was always worth a try. Pitch had been nervous to equip her with sharp blades, but she usually never hurt people with them. Emphasis on _usually._

Wrath's temper problems were mostly left alone. After all, it was what made him _him. _For the most part he was quick, efficient, and alarmingly demanding, like an army commander, even reaching OCD-like levels when faced with things like the arrangement of his weapons and how he cut his meat at dinner. Pitch did occasionally have to keep him from braining his siblings with battleaxes when petty arguments turned into brawls, but he was a good leader and definitely worth the trouble.

Pain had shown the most progress. For the first two years, she was a weak, mostly useless girl. Then, on her tenth birthday, she was suddenly gifted with invulnerability to physical pain. After that she threw herself at training with a newfound fire, and had grown to be a remarkably sexy young woman with considerable skill in swordsmanship. Okay, okay, maybe things had been _disgustingly _awkward with her as she was the oldest of the girls and the first to go through…_the changes, _but that was a minor thing.

Solitude stayed pretty much the same — thumb sucking and all.

After long weeks of therapy and practice, Suffering learned how to walk, and soon she was a master in the art of whip fighting. She didn't grow much, save the changes brought in puberty, and so as her siblings grew up she remained the smallest of all the Nightmare Children. The wounds on her face never healed, nor did her susceptibility to weakness. But she hated being teased and was quick to act in revenge, as they had had the misfortune to find out.

Judgment was still as judgmental as always of other people's clothes and appearances, even though he himself wore an oversized judge's robe and black loafers wherever he went. He had also taken an interest in the arts of human law and justice. In addition to these studious qualities, he liked war hammers. Why? No one knew, though some had remarked that his favorite hammer looked a bit like a judge's gavel.

Tempest still liked to sleep in. A lot. But she was very, _very_ powerful, showing control over anything in nature that could be used to destroy — wind, storms, fire, floods, earthquakes, et cetera. She had a temper of her own and, due to ten years of doing literally nothing but training, became a skilled fighter with her words, her weapons, and her fists. Lightning seemed to be her favorite out of all of her destructive spheres of control, because it could be as bipolar as she was.

Unknown still hardly ever spoke. For the first year, everyone had thought him to be a useless, helpless mute until the one time he spoke up hoarsely at the dinner table when everyone else was arguing over something that didn't really matter anyway. It was just three words — "This is boring" — but it had silenced the entire table. He hadn't shown much more progress than that, though he had shown preference to the bladeless quarterstaff as a weapon. While his adoptive siblings were fighting or training, one could often find him perched on the top of the bookshelves in the library, reading ancient scrolls about the history, construction, and using of time travel amulets, or something of that sort.

Yes, there had been some obstacles along the way, and the kids _still_ weren't perfect, but they would have to do. If Pitch could, he would have waited a few more years for them to grow up a little more — because even to him, the prospect of sending twelve teens to battle a group of five immortals was a bit disturbing — but he didn't think he could wait any longer. They were already lethal warriors. And if they grew any older, then they might reach that age when they stopped caring completely about themselves and what was going on now. Pain had already inquired several times as to exactly _who _Pitch had played with to get them, and she wasn't the last to ask either — it had taken a lot of fake sobbing and a quick little lie to get out of that one. With enough time, they might start getting more persistent in the questions of where exactly they came from, and if Pitch was _really_ their father…

He couldn't have that. No, it had to be now.

But maybe it wasn't the perfect time. Shame had been really moody lately — the girls all tended to be like that at one point or another — and Pitch didn't know if she would comply. And he still wasn't sure if Unknown was fit for fighting in any way. Should he send them?

Then he realized he was growing soft. Ten years with these kids was wearing him down. As annoying as they were, he had developed a fondness for them.

It had to be now, before it was too late.

"I have called you here," said Pitch finally after his accounting of his children was completed, "because today is the day when we will strike."

Danger, Wrath, Pain, and Judgment all looked at Pitch with eager lights in their eyes. Shame and Loss had confusion written on their faces. Death was contemplative, Dark's emotionless eyes caused the already-dim light to fade halfway to complete darkness, Solitude didn't seem to care, Suffering smiled slightly, and Tempest raised an eyebrow. Unknown just kept his head down and hood up as he scratched his ankle with the toes of the other foot. In short, they were not reacting in the way he had expected. If one is to lay siege upon somewhere, they should all be eager to do it!

"Today is the day," said Pitch, rising from his throne and hoping that a little dramatic speech would help wake them up, "when I shall send you out. You shall go to the Guardians, attack, and then kill them all. The ones that you cannot kill, bring them back…alive, if it is reasonable. This is what I have trained you for, my Nightmare Children, so make me proud."

Very little to no reaction from most of them. But then the small, lithe Danger stepped forward and said with a grin, "I will, Father."

Wrath followed his little sister's lead and hefted his huge battleaxe over his shoulder. "As will I. We won't let you down."

Pain inclined her perfect chin and smiled her perfect smile, though her flawless beauty was marred by the wicked glint in her blood-red eyes. "If Danger and Wrath are in, then so am I."

Most of the other Nightmare Children just nodded and/or readied weapons, which basically conveyed the same message. Unknown didn't move, which was only typical and to be ignored once again. Solitude sighed in melodramatic exasperation.

"Is there something wrong, Solitude?" inquired Pitch sardonically.

Solitude hesitated. "I just — with all these other people? I thought we were going to do this, like, I don't know, one person for each Guardian?"

Everyone groaned, rolled their eyes, facepalmed, or all of the above. Danger snickered something about there only being five Guardians and not twelve.

"Not this _again,"_ grumbled Pitch. "Yes. With all these 'other people', whether you like it or not."

This finished and done with, it was time to wrap things up. "Then be off," commanded the Nightmare King. He called out twelve Nightmares, which were instantly attracted to the Nightmare Child it had been assigned to. Nightmare riding had been part of their training after all, except for Tempest seeing as she could control the wind and didn't really need to ride Nightmares. Hence, she ignored her horse and summoned a gust of wind, which agitated the other eleven Nightmares. Agitated Nightmares were the best kind, Pitch mused to himself. Maybe Tempest's annoying love of wind would help them this time.

"Now go," he ordered. "Take your Nightmares, and deal my revenge!"

A bit melodramatic, he thought, but these kids loved sinister melodrama. And it seemed to work anyway. The teens mounted their Nightmares, and in a swirl of black sand, they were gone.

Pitch knew that he shouldn't. He knew it was undignified for the Nightmare King, but he couldn't help it. An evil chuckle bubbled its way up his throat and burst out, growing in volume and intensity until it turned into a full-fledged evil laugh that echoed around the cavern, sending all remaining Nightmares and other animals scurrying for cover. They could tell that something very, very bad was about to happen.

And they were right.

XXXXXXXXX

**Oh look, no puns.**

**Unless you guys can find some that I didn't, or can make some up. (I _am _looking at you Chocykitty. Do not disappoint me.)**

**Originally this chapter was longer but I decided to cut the last scenes and put them in the next one, because that one was really short.**

**Bleh. Review or whatever.**


	3. Enemy

**QUICKIE UPDATE BEFORE I HAVE TO GO PRACTICE FOR MY TAE KWON DO TESTING HERE YA GO BYE**

**miami-mjk & ShadowWolf99: /:U  
>FlightFeathers: I can't write dark and creepy, not with something like this I guess…like I try. But even with Five Quarts on FictionPress, a story about an undertaker, I couldn't make it dark without making jokes.<br>chocykitty: Yesterday I ate a plate of nachos.**

**.**

Danger wanted to be the first to go. Of course. Logic stated that the warlike, noble-appearing Wrath should be the one to lead the attack. Possibly Tempest, if they wanted the fight to break out with either a perfectly placed arrow to Jack Frost's heart or a big dramatic speech highlighting the futility of resistance. But as they were arguing on their strategy of attack on their way to the North Pole, Dark just had to be a smart aleck and point out, "Um, guys, but if we're going to attack Guardians, they all have to be _in one place, _right?"

This shut them all up.

Death cleared his throat. "I believe," he said flatly, "that I am one of the only ones here who has even considered that maybe picking off the Guardians individually would be better than waiting for them to gather in their stronghold."

Loss smirked. "Problem," she piped up. "You weren't the only one. I'm a strategist, you know? I've been thinking about this for years! In _theory,_ a brilliant plan. But how're we going to find them if they're all scattered across the globe?"

Death frowned, then nodded. He knew better than to cross his little sister. The Nightmare Children did not discriminate by age, only skill level, courage, strength, and probability of being retaliated against by the person in question. Loss had been known to hide water balloons filled with salsa all over the rooms of people who claimed the television remote first.

"So no, we have to get them all together," she concluded.

"Well, how?" asked Wrath.

"I spent more time than you think in Father's library," Solitude piped up. "I was reading a book on some of the lesser-known facts about the Guardians, and it said that they call their members together with a special kind of aurora borealis, sent out by a certain lever that Nicholas St. North pushes. I say we send someone in anonymously and they pull that lever, bringing all of the Guardians into one place."

His siblings stared at him. "Wow, Sol," remarked Shame, "I think that's the most you've ever said at once." At which Solitude's olive cheeks turned a shade of red normally associated with fire trucks, to which Shame grinned as she felt his embarrassment. She and Solitude had a running feud going, though why no one really knew.

"I volunteer!" shouted Danger a bit too zealously. "Like, to be the one to go in," she amended awkwardly, to which Shame grinned again.

"Danger? Infiltrating the Guardian headquarters? By herself?" said Judgment, raising an eyebrow. "I don't like where this is going."

"Neither do I," said Tempest, standing up from her place on the back of Wrath's Nightmare. She had been riding with him to save her energy, but now that they were so close to the Pole she dismounted and let the wind catch her. "I'll go; I've studied the layout of the Pole, and I know how to stay unseen. I'll just — "

"No," said a voice from the back of the group, quite unexpectedly. "I'll go."

They all froze, reined in their still-in-the-air Nightmares, and swerved around to focus on the origins of the voice. Those origins in question happened to be a small fourteen-year-old with a silver quarterstaff. He kept his hood up to hide his face, but they all saw him swallow and take a deep breath before continuing.

"I mean," he fiddled with his Nightmare's reins anxiously, then coughed, "w…with all due respect, Tempest, but…in — invisibility, those things unseen…that's not your job."

There was a long silence, during which they all stared at him in shock, confusion, amazement, disgust, or all of the above, until Shame broke it by remarking, "Wow, Unknown, I think that's the most you've ever said at once." Solitude, the other recipient of this barb, scowled.

But there was no visible reaction from the hooded albino. He only shrugged his shoulders and continued, obviously trying not to stutter, "There are dozens — no, _hundreds _of magical traps and security systems surrounding the Pole."

"So what you're saying is…?" prompted Pain, more than a bit sarcastic.

"If…if anyone can bypass them, it's me."

"Oh really?" Wrath drawled, smirking. "_You, _the only one able to get into the most secure magical stronghold on this planet?"

The youngest Nightmare Child faltered, then nodded. "The Pole's systems are meant to keep out magical beings, not mortals. The less magic a spirit has, the less of a chance that they'll detect them. So…if you're going to look around and ask who's the least magical person here…well, it's not really that hard."

Each of his siblings, to some extent, felt that he was scared. Judgment suspected it was because Unknown was lying, though you could never really tell with this freak. But it made sense, so what exactly could he be lying about?

"I don't see any problem with that," Dark was the first to speak. "It's just once you're in the Pole that it'd be hard to go unnoticed."

"No, that'd be the easy part," Loss cut in. "If you enter by the main control panel, there's a risk of a few sentries — or even Nicholas St. North seeing you from his private workshop — but other than that, no one else should really be around."

"So, can — " Unknown tried to speak up, but she kept going as if he hadn't said anything at all.

"It's after that what I'm mostly worried about. I've no idea where the security controls are and if you just let yourself in, is it going to let us in after you?"

Solitude nodded before Unknown even had a chance to think about the answer. "I'd think so. I read about this once. There's usually a magical catalyst somewhere, and I'm guessing it'd be somewhere by the aurora controls."

"But if it's a magical catalyst, then wouldn't it take someone with magic to deactivate it?" asked Shame.

The green-eyed boy shook his head. "No, I don't think so. The magic in that place is so strong, even a mortal could reach out and grab some of it. Kind of like…did anyone else read the fairy text about that one mortal boy, the Irish kid…"

"Artemis Fowl?" Suffering offered, and Solitude nodded.

"Yeah. That guy. He acquired and used magic through the time stream or something like that because the magic was so loose. It's kind of the same deal here, I think, especially if you've already got the negative energy of the Nightmares."

"So — " Unknown tried to speak up again, but this time, it was Tempest who cut him off.

"If you think you can do it, go right on ahead," she shrugged.

This aroused some protests among the ranks of the Nightmare Children, the loudest of which was Danger's before Death slapped her out of pure annoyance. But oh, that did feel good. He didn't like a lot of things, but slapping people was among them. It gave him such a sense of satisfaction.

"Tempest, what the blazes are you _thinking?" _Wrath hissed into Tempest's ear. "Sending Unknown to — "

"No, I trust him," she said, but whether it was directed to Wrath or Unknown is a mystery. "After all, if he thinks he's ready to prove himself, I say we let him. Not like we have a better option here."

Wrath was literally fuming. Yes, quite literally, in fact — faint wisps of black smoke were spiraling from his crest of carefully gelled hair.

"Ignore him," Tempest said, referring to Wrath of course. Unknown's mouth twitched a bit on the side — a smile? — but he said nothing.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Tempest snapped. "Go!"

"Okay," the Twelfth Nightmare Child said, and, quite simply, vanished. Vanished into thin air, just like that — Nightmare, quarterstaff, hood, and all.

Silence.

"That's new," Dark commented.

"It does explain how he always won Hide-and-Go-Seek as kids," Judgment shrugged.

After a silence Wrath restated his previous question, except in much greater volume. "Tempest, _what the bloody blazes are you thinking?"_

She turned to him, an amused look on her face. "I'm thinking that you all gave _me_ a chance," she replied. "And I just now realized that he's never received one until today."

Then Tempest stopped and considered her words.

"Those nostalgic thoughts, and also that if he gets caught, he'll be too scared to say a word."

XXXXXXXXX

**Fifteen minutes later…**

Eleven teens sat huddled on the cliff overlooking the North Pole, just a few feet outside of North's first outer boundary. Tempest was able to divert most of the wind and they were wearing special coats that helped them stay warm, but it was still _so infernally cold._

They were all still and silent as they waited for Unknown to return. After exactly fifteen minutes — Solitude had been counting the seconds — Danger yelled irritably:

_"When is that hooded moron going to be done already?!"_

Nine Nightmare Children had to keep Wrath from disemboweling Danger on the spot.

XXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, Jack Frost had just instituted a school-wide snowball fight.

He had been flying casually through Burgess when he had seen a young man of about twenty years old walking out of a middle school with a blond-haired girl of thirteen. He could hear them complaining to each other about tests and school and jobs as they went to the car, a battered blue van that very obviously belonged to the young man. Ugh. Tests, school, and jobs. Since when had they become so boring?

Things stopped getting boring when a snowball smacked the young man in the back of the head.

"Hey," grinned twenty-year-old Jamie, turning around and seeing the winter spirit.

"You gotta stay on your toes, kid!" called Jack, even though, since he was eternally fifteen, Jamie was now older than him by five years. Though if you were speaking literally, then Jamie still had a long way to go. So, by this logic, Jack was right in calling Jamie "kid" and I have proven absolutely nothing in fifty-one words.

"Jack Frost," sighed teenage Sophie. "I will _never_ get over his hotness."

"Wait, what?" spluttered Jack indignantly, skidding to a stop, if one can _skid _while flying on the wind. _"HOTNESS?! _I am not HOT, for your information. Cool, yes, maybe, and awesome, but not _HOT — _whoa!"

Sophie used this opportunity to scoop up a snowball from a nearby snowdrift. She had a surprisingly strong arm, but her aim needed work, evidenced when the snowball sailed right past Jack's head and hit a curly-haired eighth grader who was just getting into her parents' brand new car. Sophie gasped when the girl, obviously one of the "rich kids" _and_ one of the "popular kids" — since the two usually went hand in hand — turned around and glared at her.

"HEY!" the girl called in a high-pitched, prissy voice. "What do you think you're doing? I could have gotten _hurt!_ What kind of bratty — "

Thankfully the girl's irritatingly high voice was cut off by one of Jack's snowballs, which hit her right in the face. The girl staggered back.

"AIIIIIIEEE!" she screamed. "You hit me!" Then the blue magic of Jack's snow began to work its will and the girl stopped scrabbling at her face. She actually smiled. "Hey. That was…fun!"

A tough-looking kid in a leather jacket picked up a handful of snow and hurled it straight at his buddy, who was walking away with his shoulders hunched moodily. The snow hit the guy and Jack heard the satisfying smack of snow on hot human flesh, and following in quick succession the even more satisfying yelp of a surprised young teen.

"FREE FOR ALL!" the teen yelled and scooped up his own snowball, aiming and hurling it back at his friend. He ducked, but got hit again by one of Jack's. The blue magic oozed from the snow and suddenly the light of fun that had been missing from these young teenagers' eyes for years came back. Soon they were all romping around and ducking the frozen ammo like they were eight years old again. Even some of the teachers and a bus driver joined.

Jack smiled. It was the things like this that really brought joy to him; when he brought joy to others. It made him feel like all his three hundred years of existence wasn't wasted.

Long story short, an all-school snowball war was soon taking effect. Due to the school's status as a middle school, not all of the kids saw Jack. The ones that did didn't really say anything — they just had just another target to hit.

Jack was the only person — spirit, whatever — who saw the shimmering auroras fluttering across the sky. The calling auroras were a special type of aurora borealis, different from the regular, natural ones because they were enchanted so that only the Guardians could see them. It was a principle that North had tried to teach the easily distracted Jack but to no avail, seeing as it involved several complicated spells that, quite frankly, the winter spirit had no patience for. But Jack was interested now. Was Pitch back? Were the lights going out? Did North get stuck in another doorway? The possibilities were endless.

Jack bid farewell to Jamie, Sophie, and the other believers, then leapt into the sky and zipped to the North Pole. He could literally bend time as he flew, shortening the journey by far. He slowed his path as he neared the Pole, though, knowing about the countless magical security measures that he had only been able to bypass a few times.

There was a little loophole by the guest room in which he occasionally took up residence, but he held this tiny glitch in the system as nonexistent to anyone except. He entered by way of this loophole and through the unlocked window, and flew into the Globe Room to find three very confused immortals. Sandy had not yet arrived.

"I don't know what's happening," North was explaining to Bunnymund and Toothiana. "It vas like — oh! Hello, Jack."

"What's going on?" asked the boy, leaning against his staff and surveying the other Guardians. Tooth looked nervous, Bunny was grim and warming his feet by the fire, and North did not look like he was stuck in a doorway. So far, so good. So what could be wrong?

"That's the problem, mate," replied Bunny with a frown that seemed a bit more intense than usual.

"We don't _know,_" said Tooth, lacing her fingers together as her eyes darted anxiously around. "None of us do."

"How come?" asked Jack. Tooth was never this agitated, even when she was overworked. Something really bad must be happening.

"It was very strange," said North, waving the saber in his left hand and a candy cane in his right. One of the elves slyly leapt up, nabbed the candy cane, and made off with it without North even noticing. "I was just in workshop, getting ready for next Christmas — "

"It's January, North. Christmas was just over."

"Still! Christmas needs much preparing. Anyway — oh, hello Sandy — I was just in private workshop when I heard calling auroras being sent off. None of Yetis heard or saw anything, only that handle mysteriously turned on its own!"

Jack raised one dark eyebrow quizzically — even after eleven long years of being around the kid, no one got the white hair/dark brows thing — and glanced up at the skylight through which the moon would shine, or should have been shining. Sandy, who had arrived during North's explanation, tapped Jack's leg and formed a dreamsand picture of a crescent moon above his head. "I don't know, Sandy," Jack admitted. "Maybe Manny called us together, but if he did, why isn't he up there?"

He wasn't. The skies were pitch black, obscured by a thick layer of dark clouds. They couldn't even see the stars.

_Pitch Black…_

"Guys," said Jack warily as the mental puzzle pieces continued to sort themselves out, "there's no moon."

The other four stared at him, then up at the skylight. It occurred to them a second afterwards — which was a second too late. North only had time to hiss, "Pitch!" before the night sky cracked with electricity and illuminated the silhouettes of twelve figures — one flying on the wind, the other eleven riding on black horses.

"No," said the flying figure as she descended through the skylight and alighted on the top of the Globe, "not _Pitch_ Black." She was followed by her eleven comrades on the Nightmares, who landed their steeds on the ledges and outcroppings around the Globe Room.

The five Guardians, gripping their respective weapons, stared at the twelve…_children_. Really, that was what they were. Tall and fit they might have been, but none of them were much over eighteen. They all wore black armor and all held deadly looking weapons, which varied from throwing knives to curved sabers to axes. They even saw a boy holding a black scythe, like the Grim Reaper's.

None of them looked alike in any way. Even their skin colors varied, most of them being a pale shade of olive or greyish white but one of them, a long-haired girl, had skin the color of dark chocolate and another, the tallest girl, had skin like cinnamon. (Of course, you know these girls to be Danger and Pain because you have read the prologue, but the Guardians hadn't.) They all had different colored eyes — none of which looked either normal or friendly — and had hair varying different shades of black, dark brown, and grey.

None of them looked similar at all, but it was apparent that they all shared one cause and served the same man.

The girl perched on the Globe, who was only about fifteen years of age, held an unloaded silver and black bow in her hands that seemed to crackle with live electricity. This same lightning reflected in her manic blue eyes and she seemed to even have control of the wind as it ruffled her messy black hair. Her lips were curled in a smirk, like she was thinking of all of the possible ways that she could knock out the witnesses and get away with something bad.

"Who are you?" demanded North, gripping his two swords.

That smirk just grew colder. "You might know me as the darker side of Mother Nature," she said. "I am Tempest Black." (Of course it was Tempest, duh. No one else on planet Earth loved melodrama as much as she did. Except for maybe her dad.)

"Black," repeated Bunny warily, frowning. Then the penny dropped. "You're _Pitch's_ kid?"

"We all are," replied Tempest. "Shame, Death, Loss, Dark, Danger." She gestured to the siblings on her left. "Wrath, Pain, Solitude, Suffering, Judgment, and Unknown." She gestured to the siblings on her right. "We are the Nightmare Children."

Jack snorted. "And I'm guessing you don't mean that you were twelve real pains in the butt for your mom?" he asked, trying to sound innocent. Sandy cracked a smile, and Tooth accidentally let out a bark of laughter before nervously covering her mouth.

Obviously, this did not strike Tempest and her eleven oddly-named siblings as funny. Lightning streaked across the sky above, but the room was darkening as a kid with sunglasses tightened his grip on his short black sword. "We do not find your sarcasm funny, _Jack Frost_," snapped Tempest.

Jack's ever-present grin shrank a few molars and he huffed in annoyance. "Fine," he grumbled. "I was just trying to lighten the mood, jeez…"

"Just tell us why you've come!" Bunny demanded, drawing his boomerangs back into the throwing position.

"Oh, so anxious, Pooka," Tempest crooned mockingly with a smile as lovely as a rose but colder than ice. "Can't wait for your death, can you?"

The Guardians' eyes widened and her hungry, wolfish smile grew maliciously. "Oh yes, we have come to kill you, Guardians, for driving the Nightmare King from his rightful place on this earth! We will throw you into oblivion, as you tried to do to our father!"

Lightning cracked outside and a deafening clap of thunder boomed throughout the Pole. Winds whipped up outside and snow flashed past the windows in a blizzard that seemed to lock them in. The sudden snowstorm blew up so fast — and so out of control that even Jack couldn't slow it on the spur of the moment — that the Guardians were sure that Tempest was responsible. She leered down at them like she wouldn't mind frying them all with a thunderbolt, then she caught the eye of one of her siblings and nodded.

At the same time North caught the eye of one of the Yetis, who was crouched behind a pillar and holding a small crossbow loaded with mild tranquilizer darts, and gestured nearly imperceptibly. Tempest's back was to the Yeti marksman, so she didn't see him slowly raising the bow until he released the string and let the dart loose.

The crack of the crossbow echoed around the silent workshop and before her mind even fully comprehended what her ears were hearing, she leapt instinctively into the air and spun around to face the Yeti assassin while still propelled aloft. Her hand went up to the quiver on her back, whipped out a black arrow, loaded the bow, drew back on the string, and released the arrow, which was all before her feet landed back on the Globe. It was a feat only possible with wind manipulation.

The arrow streaked through the air, its tip glowing white-hot and small threads of blue electricity racing up the gunmetal-black shaft. That was all the Guardians saw of the arrow before it slammed through the Yeti's thick mass of fur and into his stomach, sinking halfway up the shaft. The gentle yet fierce giant fell to his knees, his eyes wide.

"Phil!" gasped North. "NO!" He could feel an ancient rage building up inside him, a rage he hadn't felt for centuries. Furious almost to the point of insanity, the former bandit glared up at Tempest, who was cursing her miss. "THIS MEANS WAR, NIGHTMARE GIRL!" he bellowed.

Maybe she hadn't gotten the thing in the heart, but these results were substantial. Upon seeing the damage that her possibly lethal shot had done to the usually calm Nicholas St. North, the archeress smiled contemptuously as the lightning flickered in her eyes. "Then so be it."

That was when the bolt of ice and lightning slammed into her, followed by a figure in a blue hoodie.

.

**OH CLIFFHANGERS OH CLIFFHANGERS**

**and puns. **


	4. Fight

**FlightFeathers: *pats arm sympathetically* it's okay. I hate Tempest too. Such a *shudders* Mary Sue. **

**Really quick, I'll just sneak in and give Mystichawk the credit she deserves:**

**I wrote maybe about 20% of this chapter, 25% if I'm generous. The rest is all hers, so give her the credit. I gave her a loose outline, an overview of a thousand words that I thought would stand great as a chapter of its own, and she gave me back this masterpiece. This is true for everything up to chapter 6, when character and plot development demanded for me to rewrite before sending them to her. Starting there the chapters are maybe half mine and half hers. This applies up to chapter 15, when we had to separate.**

**Then it's all me, and you guys should brace yourselves.**

_._

When Jack heard the_ _swoosh __of the arrow and the heavy_ _thump_ _of its impact as it drove into Phil's flesh, he found that he couldn't move.

He just stared in horror as the yeti that had become his friend staggered back against the wall and fall to his knees. He watched, paralyzed, as the other Guardians rushed to the gentle giant's side, and he watched as the girl Tempest gloated.

He was completely numb. No. Not _Phil! _It was impossible. This was just a bad dream. Nothing more than Pitch trying to get him. Phil couldn't have just gotten shot like that! The arrow had come without any warning and he hadn't even had time to scream! As he stared almost incomprehensibly at the blood gushing out from the wound, Jack felt a strong urge to cry.

Ever since Jack received his new status as an official Guardian, he had been trying to get on good terms with the huge Yeti. Yetis, despite their intimidating size and powerful muscles under all that fur, are naturally forgiving and gentle creatures. And despite Jack's many attempts to break to break into the workshop, all the elves he'd frozen, and all the trouble he'd made, Phil had accepted his sincere apology and had even given him a few presents to make up for kicking him out so many times.

He had given Jack a new hoodie, sewn from the finest blue material, and even a little white hat, which Jack wore whenever he was around Phil. The Yeti had even taken out the time to teach Jack some of his carving skills and over the next few months Jack began to feel more welcome at the Pole. Like the relationship between Bunny and Jack, Phil and Jack grew fond of each other and though teasing and pranking were common, no one ever got hurt. It was just a game, and Jack had never felt more cared for.

Now all of that had been ripped away by one single arrow.

_He's not going to die! _Jack screamed to himself. _He won't die!_

Rage built up inside of him and he exploded from the floor with a shower of ice, making a beeline straight towards Tempest. With a clench of his fist he sent a powerful wind whipping around her and shards of frost and ice straight at her face. His energy, released for the first time in its full force since the battle with Pitch, made an amazing sight as it collided with the girl riding the black winds.

Tempest had not seen the attack coming until it was too late. Her face took on the impact of a dozen stinging shards of ice and she screamed, instinctively sending a wall of dark wind flying in the direction the ice came from. She was blinded and as she tried to get control of her winds, a body slammed into her and sent her flying off her wind-steed.

She fell to the ground kicking and gasping, clawing at her face and trying to regain control over her powers. The ice dug into her skin and partly out of pain, partly out of rage she screamed, "WE WILL FINISH YOU! BROTHERS, SISTERS, ATTACK!"

XXXXXXXXX

The Nightmare Children needed no more urging. When they saw their sister fall and heard her scream the command they each leapt into action, charging the forces that had defeated their father.

Wrath and Dark took on North; Wrath with his battle-ax and shield and Dark with his writhing sword of shadows. They slashed and hacked, trying to keep North with the group. He couldn't swing those massive swords if he was backed up near his fellow Guardians, for fear of accidentally hitting one of them. Fortunately, or so they thought, the man seemed to only be fighting on the defensive. He had few chances to counterattack as it was, but when he did, he seemed to be doing so simply to injure and not to kill.

They didn't know why, but anyway it gave them an advantage. And so, comforted by the lack of lethal attacks, they threw themselves at him with a fury.

Danger, with her twin throwing knives, began fighting Bunnymund. She threw her knives with honed accuracy but Bunny leaped out of the way just in time, sending a boomerang flashing towards her head. She ducked and jeered, "Ha ha! Too slow!" She pulled up on the reins of her Nightmare and stood up in the saddle, making immature faces. "Too slow, too slow!"

Enraged, Bunny threw another boomerang, yelling, "You'll pay for that, sheila!"

"That's not my name, you silly Bunny!" Danger taunted, reminding Bunny for a second of Sophie when she said his name. He hadn't seen the little anklebiter for almost a year now…well, Easter was just around the corner. Then he shook his head. _Focus, Aster! There's a crazed sheila going after your neck! _He looked up, just as said "crazed sheila" tapped her heels against the sides of her horse and made it leap for Bunny. She had drawn her knives again and Bunny assumed that, just like his boomerangs, they reappeared when thrown. Either that or she was just that fast. Her eyes were alight like bright purple coals and her mouth was stretched into an insane, almost hideous smile.

"I AM DANGER!" she yelled melodramatically. "HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

_Well, now we know Pitch's influence on kids, _Bunny mused grimly to himself as he leaped up. _Grand-standers, the both of ya. _He sent two boomerangs flying in opposite directions. They curved around and were about to slice right through the horse until the girl, "Danger", yanked on the reins and made the horse leap up again. She managed to turn the jump into something of a loop-de-loop in mid-air as the boomerangs sailed uselessly past her.

"Well played, sheila," commented Bunny.

Danger, who was still standing in the stirrups, flashed another striking, yet horribly taunting, grin. "Silly rabbit!" she sang in a mocking voice, but Bunny could hear the undertone of insanity in it and shuddered. "Weapons are for KIDS!" And she let loose her knives once more.

XXXXXXXXX

On the other side of the room, Tooth was using a smaller sword, which she had borrowed from a Yeti, to charge Pain, who was armed with two curved sabers.

"AAAAAAAAARRRRGH!" Tooth screamed, slashing and hacking with all her might. "You MONSTERS!"

_"__We're _the monsters?" Pain inquired calmly, tugging the reins of her Nightmare to almost leisurely evade the furious Tooth Fairy. Then, in one smooth, lithe movement, she leapt off, landed on the ground, and drew her sabers from sheaths on her back. The slim red blades glowed in the angry, flashing light from above as Tempest and Jack began to go at each other's throats. "_You're_ the ones who cast our father into oblivion, just because he wanted to be believed in." An evil smirk grew on her face as an idea sparked in her dark mind. "I bet you never even went back to try to search for him."

"He was evil!" Tooth yelled, swinging lividly with her sword. Pain ducked and parried with one of her own blades. "He tried to kill us!"

"And you didn't try to do the same to him?" Pain asked contemptuously as Tooth came for her again and again. "You sent him to his doom, Guardian. Just like you did to your poor mother and father."

Tooth froze and stumbled mid-strike, staring in horror at the smiling Nightmare Girl. _Her parents? _How could she possibly know about her parents?

"Oh yes. I can see your pain," Pain said smoothly, slowly circling the only female Guardian, letting her sabers drag along the floor and allowing them to cut long, jagged slashes in the intricate rugs and the wooden floor underneath. A bright glint of malicious glee shone in her crimson eyes. "Your parents sacrificed themselves, but you still feel guilty about it, don't you?"

Tooth blinked and suddenly she was in control of herself again. "Stop it!" she snarled. "You don't know anything about me!"

"'Course I do, you're the Tooth Fairy!" said Pain with a malicious smile. "Mistress of little fairies who come in the night." She sounded so much like Pitch that Tooth actually shuddered. Then Pain stopped her pace and fixed Toothiana with a cold stare. "And the keeper of so much pain that it makes you just want to scream."

Tooth faltered. "I — " she choked, trying to sound brave. The words jumbled in her mind as a cold hand started to squeeze her heart. "I'm not full of pain! I love my job and I love my life!"

"Yes, but who made it possible for you to _have _that life?" Pain questioned rhetorically. "Your parents did, that's who! They chose to die — they sacrificed themselves so that you could live and how do you repay them? You _forgot_ about them! You spent so many years working with your precious Guardians that you forgot — "

"STOP IT!" Tooth screamed, suddenly lunging forward and swinging her sword in a burst of reckless wrath. But of course, Pain had grown up with a very reckless Wrath, so she knew how to react. She sidestepped the swing almost leisurely. "Stop it! You don't know! _You aren't me!"_

"No," Pain admitted, "but I can see right through that box you put your pain in." She began circling again, her movements lithe and silent as a cat's. "You shut all the hurt you've experienced, especially that of losing your family, into a cage and just let it fester and boil into a mass of writhing pain and self-hatred."

"I didn't!" Tooth spat, trying to fight the Nightmare Child who just kept walking back and ducking and deflecting as if she had all the time in the world.

"Why is it, do you think?" the eighteen-year-old girl asked her suddenly, dropping the outstretched sabers and eyeing the fairy with slight puzzlement.

Tooth faltered again but regained her footing. "Why is what?" she inquired warily.

"Why can't you even seem to save the people you care about?" Pain replied, her face changing instantly into the cold smirk of a predator who knows where the prey is hiding. "First your parents, then every child who can't remember the joy, even that Yeti — all worth so much to you. Oh, don't look so shocked," she said, grinning even wider now. "I _saw _the horrified look on your face. I knew what you were thinking: _everyone keeps dying around me and I can't seem to stop it!" _she mocked, her voice shooting up to a falsetto that, if it went any higher, could break glass. "You can't stop it, Toothiana. No one can stop it. It just keeps happening, time after time after time again and no matter what you do, immortality or no, death _will _have the last word."

"No! I didn't — "

"Which makes me wonder," Pain continued, cutting her off, "who'll be next? The rabbit? North? That accursed dreammaker? Your precious _winter spirit?_ Oh, they'll all die, and you'll be the last one left standing. And then you'll break down and cry because you know that you could have stopped it."

Tooth tried to shut out the words. They weren't true! They weren't —

"Better yet, you probably wish they could come back!" Pain added. She was in her element now. Pain. This fairy was a virtual buffet of it! A few more words and the fairy would fold. "But they can't. You wish that you could take their place, but you can't. You'll be all alone and full of nothing but pain."

The swordswoman paused and adopted the kind, yet cold and patronizing voice that Pitch had used before his defeat. "You already have _so much pain, _Toothiana. Any more and I might burst from all the energy."

That accursedly pleasant voice might as well have been nails on a chalkboard.

"It really is quite _delicious."_

Tooth tried to fight the words, but they were overpowering. Being reminded of her long-lost parents after so many years…it crushed the fight out of her and forced her to drop the sword. It clanged against the wooden floor, releasing a hollow echo that no one heard amidst the cries and rings of battle.

This was the move Pain had been looking for. She lunged for the fairy with her sabers outstretched and ready for the kill. Tooth saw the blades. She heard Pain's cry of victory and she knew she was about to die, killed by the hand of a Nightmare Child. Just like Phil.

_Phil!_

_Her parents!_

In one instant Tooth felt all her memories of her mother and father flooding back. She hadn't forgotten them! They were still with her, in her heart! _She _hadn't been responsible for Phil's death! That demon-girl in the whirlwind had been, and she now had a chance to fight her sister!

In a whirl of feathers, Tooth reached down, scooped up the sword and parried the saber that would have otherwise cleaved her in half. "You don't know me!" she screamed, thrusting her sword at her opponent and landing a small incision under her ribs. Pain yelped in surprise — not pain of course; to that she was invulnerable — and stumbled back.

"I _do _feel pain," Tooth yelled, "but I _don't _blame myself! Your stupid mind-games don't work on me ANYMORE!"

She felt rejuvenated. She felt alive again. These words were just _words! _They weren't true! Yes, her parents had sacrificed themselves for her and yes she had wished she could have them back, but she knew _she _wasn't responsible!

Toothiana slashed and hacked, jumping into the duel with renewed vigor. Pain was momentarily shocked as she scrambled for cover, then a wide smile crossed her face and she too began to fight more viciously. Well, she had been waiting for a to-the-death duel her whole life, hadn't she? Her father had strictly forbidden it…until today.

XXXXXXXXX

While Tooth's little drama-sitcom moment was playing out down on the ground, Sandy found himself up on the far side of the room high above the others, facing Suffering. Sandy stood on his dreamsand cloud and stared at the girl riding the black sand-horse across from him. A curtain of stringy grey hair covered her face and she appeared to be unarmed, except for the uniform black armor that all of the Nightmare Children wore. Sandy was a little uneasy about fighting someone without a way to defend herself, and desperately he started signing to indicate that they didn't need to fight. Sure, he wasn't the best at diplomacy seeing as he could not speak, but it was worth a try.

"Fight," the girl said. Her voice was slightly raspy, and even though it should have been drowned out by the screams and yells and _zings _of blades on blades below, Sandy could hear her perfectly.

He made an image of a battle-ax, but the girl just let out a hissing rasp that might have been laughter. "Fight!" she repeated, louder this time.

Eyes wide, Sandy shook his head, then made the circle with the slash through it — _no — _and the weapons sign.

The girl cackled again and before Sandy could duck, a thick coil of black sand wrapped around his arm and started eating eagerly away at him. Sandy scowled and yanked his arm sharply to the side, breaking the nightmare sand's hold on him. The broken bond writhed and squirmed, trying to assert itself and take over the Sandman's body, but he was too strong for that. The black sand dissipated and Sandy cracked his neck, forming his own twin whips in his clenched fists.

_Let's go._

Without warning, the girl snapped her whip and Sandy had to duck quickly to avoid being slashed in two. _She's quick, _he thought. Then she lashed out again and he replied in kind, sending his whip towards her stomach. Her Nightmare pranced out of the way at her command, and she let her whip fly towards his head. Sandy ducked and bobbed, weaving in and out of range as the black and gold lashes twirled and spun in the intricate dance of life and death.

The girl's Nightmare skipped away and Sandy knew he would have to fly in closer. That was the trouble with whips; you couldn't use them in confined spaces. He would have to back her up against the ceiling or the wall to keep her from getting the better of him, then he could throw some dreamsand at her and knock her out, catching her before she hit the ground. No pain, no blood, no death. Easy.

That's what he thought, at least.

Suffering was, in all honesty, a whip _master, _and she showed it, too. She knew that if he backed her up he would cut off all options of escape, so she decided to use that tactic against him. She attacked with a ferocity that Sandy could only marvel at as he ducked and spun, dodging the whip's lash and inadvertently being driven further and further back. He tried to attack, but he couldn't help but pull his blows at the last second, not wanting to hurt a child. She was a dark, creepy, teenage child who wouldn't show her face and who was the daughter of Pitch, but she was still a child.

And the Guardians didn't hurt children.

Sandy ducked another lash and tried to convey a message to the girl. The images of a girl throwing down her weapons, a no sign with a fist in the middle, the Guardians' G symbol, and again the no sign and the fist. Drop your weapons and come quietly, and we won't hurt you.

The girl let out a screeching, almost hysterical laugh. "FIGHT!" she screamed, making his ears ring. "FIGHT OR DIE!"

_Well, I tried, _sighed Sandy bleakly, drawing back his arm and letting fly another lash.

XXXXXXXXX

The rest of the Nightmare Children — Shame, Death, Loss, Solitude, Judgment, and Unknown — were fighting off the Yetis, the Mini Fairies, and the elves (who had gotten a hold of some paintball guns). Judgment, who was pretty clumsy for a guy who could swing a five-pound hammer for hours, lost his breastplate and subsequently got pegged by three paintballs right in the stomach and was sent flying backwards out of shock. Luckily, his brother Death — who seemed to be the center of the fight and was battling three Yetis at once with his scythe — saw and caught his brother by the back of his robe as he flew by.

Judgment swore violently, staring incredulously at his robe, once black but now splattered with pink and green paint. "Those dwarfs _will_ pay for what they have done!"

In different circumstances, Death probably would have laughed at his studious, ridiculous brother. So often do people wear their best suit to their last stand and then complain, even though it's no one's fault but their own. _"Right," _the amber-eyed boy said sarcastically, rolling his eyes before dodging sideways and popping back up to retaliate at the Yeti who had swung at him.

Unknown, for some strange reason, didn't seem to be getting much of a fight. Everything he went up against either didn't see him, wouldn't fight him, didn't think of him as a threat, or just plain ignored him. The fairies wouldn't even look at him and the elves steered clear of him too, yet he was wielding that quarterstaff and weaving his way through the battle without any apparent effort. He still seemed as pale and terrified out of his wits as always, but Death saw the faint flicker of determination in his mirrorlike eyes.

Then he got knocked to the side by a Yeti's huge fist and forgot about his younger brother, as he was too busy cursing.

XXXXXXXXX

In their own separate fight high above the others, experience was beginning to trump training as Jack started gaining the upper hand over Tempest. They fought and raged, Tempest shooting curses and taunts and Jack slinging them back at her.

"Come on, Ice-for-brains, is that all you've got?" she teased, releasing an arrow at the winter spirit.

Lithely Jack ducked and came back with, "Oh please, Thunder Butt. I'm not even breaking a sweat."

At one point, the girl called down a bolt of lightning through the skylight, but when she sent it at Jack, the spirit deflected it with his staff and sent the bolt streaking back towards her. It hit her on the left shoulder, sending her flying backwards into the wall. She connected with the wood with a sickening crack and slid limply to the ground.

Jack winced. He hadn't meant to really hurt her, just knock her off balance so he could maybe get Sandy to knock her out, but on the bright side, at least she wasn't trying to kill him anymore, right? Jack hovered in the air for a few frozen moments, waiting for her to jump up and make a move, but she just lay there, moaning. Cautiously, he made his way down to her. If she was setting him up, well, he had the upper hand here, seeing as her bow was too far away for her to reach in time.

"Give up," he said, stepping forward while keeping his grip on his staff. "You can't win."

Tempest tried to get to her feet, but she only made it to her knees, her hands braced against the wall to support her weak body. She almost looked like she was praying. Trying to sound tough, she let out a ragged laugh, which faltered and turned to a hacking cough. "Never!" she spat, trying to lift her head. A bit of blood dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. "My father will be restored to his rightful place on earth and — " She could not finish. A paroxysm of coughing racked her body and she struggled just to keep herself from hitting the floor again.

"Give up," Jack repeated, bending down until the hook of his staff was at her chest and they were at equal eye level. Their eyes locked, blue with blue, and Jack saw in hers a deadly mixture of pain, anger, hatred, and fear. "You can't fight anymore."

Her loathing glare lasted for about a second until realization seemed to sink in. Her face lost all traces of fury, settling for blank fatalism. "You're right," she sighed, almost as if in awe that she wasn't. "I can't fight anymore."

"Look around," Jack said. Maybe he could get her to stop her siblings and they could talk like civilized immortal beings. "Your siblings aren't winning. Soon you'll all be either in a dungeon or dead."

"You can't fool me, Guardian," she snapped imperiously, giving him an all-knowing look. "Your kind don't kill _children." _The last word was spat out like a curse.

"You're not children," said Jack flatly before he could stop himself. "You're…"

"Nightmares?" Tempest finished, smiling grimly.

Taken somewhat aback, Jack nodded, not sure if she was going to scream and attack him again if he said the answer outright. But she did nothing. Instead she pushed herself to her knees, sat back on her heels, and gazed out at the chaos around them. Jack looked too, keeping a firm hand on his staff in case it was a trick. In the panorama before them, Nightmare Children were fighting, Guardians were defending, Yetis were bellowing and throwing things, and elves with paintball guns were bashing the ankles of the Nightmare Children. If the darkly dressed attackers weren't fighting to kill, it might have actually been funny.

"I think that we used to be children. But we're not anymore." Jack glanced down at Tempest to see that she had lowered her eyes. "We're Nightmare Children. This is what we were bred to do." A note of sadness leaked into her voice. Even if it was just an act, if it was just a trick, there was a distinct bit of truth ringing in her words.

"You know," she coughed, wiped the blood off her lips, and looked back at him, "I've never been in a real battle. It's just been training, year after year after year until we all got good enough." She smirked humorlessly. "Heck, Unknown and Judgment _still _aren't that good in a fight." For the first time, she actually sounded like a real kid who spoke in contractions and improper grammar.

"You see what I mean?" asked the bright-eyed Jack, hoping he could get her to end this. Maybe she wasn't _all _Nightmare. There was still a bit of Child left in her, somewhere. "I know you guys've been trained by Pitch to kill us, but you don't have to! You guys are just…kids!"

He saw her eyes twinkle with amusement, then she braced her hands against the wall again and struggled to her feet. "Jack Frost," she said, drawing herself up to her full height, which in all honesty wasn't much, "your persistence has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways. I will call off my siblings."

Jack blinked and rose as well, though his movement was sharper and in surprise. "Come again?"

"You're right," she admitted. "We don't have to fight just because our father says so. We won't kill you and, with enough time of negotiations and quiet contemplation, someday we may get our father to return to the path of light."

Jack's eyebrows flew up. She was giving up? Just like that? Wow. He must have had better diplomacy skills than he thought. "Um…uh…I guess that sounds okay."

Tempest managed a weak smile and tried to walk forward, presumably to shake hands, but then she gasped and stumbled. Reflexively Jack rushed to her side to help her up. "Are you o — "

The remainder of the word never came out, because Tempest's conveniently clenched fist smashed into his face, very effectively getting him away from her, shutting him up, and giving her a moment to recover — because after all, her pain had not been completely feigned. Honestly, when you are hurled into a wall by magic lightning, whether you are a spirit, a human, or a bit of both, you're going to feel the effects later. As the disoriented and agonized Jack clumsily staggered to his feet, his hands scrabbling around his bleeding nose, Tempest scooped up her fallen bow, loaded it with a heavy black arrow, drew back the string, and prepared to fire.

"You heroes," she smiled contemptuously just as her fingers began to let the taut bowstring slip loose. "So _gullible!_ It's a wonder that you were ever able to defeat our father…"

She was about to release the arrow when something small and grey barreled into Jack's vulnerable body, sending him flying again.

Through his panicked eyes blurred by blood and reflex tears, Jack tried to get a look at this new attacker as he tried to pin his still-disoriented body down. But as he looked up, Jack saw…himself. A younger, smaller, and wilder version, not to mention a…um…well, I suppose you could call the boy a _greyer _version of Jack, seeing as that was exactly what he was. Bare feet. Silver hair. Thin face. Pale skin. _Himself, _had it not been for the black armor and those wide, wild eyes that, instead of cobalt blue, were a strange shimmering shade of silver that he somehow couldn't focus on. But himself.

"Unknown," Tempest hissed, facepalming with the hand that didn't hold the bow. "Why? _Why _do you always have to mess up _everything _you touch?!"

"He was about to attack you!" Unknown protested, the last word somewhat garbled when Jack rolled to the side out from under his grasp and the Nightmare Child yelped as he thudded on the empty floor where his captive had _once _been. Both boys scrambled to their feet and scooped up their staffs — Jack his wooden shepherd's crook and Unknown his straight metal quarterstaff — and commenced in a staff-to-staff duel.

"I was about to _kill _him!" hissed Tempest, completely ignoring the obvious fact that her little brother was not winning the fight. "Why couldn't you — " Her ranting was cut off as a huge and very angry Yeti, which had previously been chasing Unknown, slammed into her. She only had time to curse Unknown's future grave — and by her word choice she wished it to be in the _very _near future — before she was thrown against the wall like a rag doll, for the second time that day falling limply to the ground. But this time, she didn't get up.

"Tempest!" shouted Unknown, which was probably the loudest he had ever spoken in his entire fourteen-year-old existence. His moment's distraction was enough for Jack to take advantage of, and the winter spirit's bare foot shot out and caught his adversary in the stomach. Unknown stumbled backwards and accidentally let go of his quarterstaff, which the nearby Dark promptly tripped over during his duel with a very angry Santa Claus. When Dark tried to regain his balance, North slammed the hilt of his sword into Dark's temple and knocked the boy out cold — though whether it was on accident or on purpose is a mystery.

Now, Dark was one of the most important members of the twelve, among Pain and Wrath, who were the two leaders, and Loss, the strategist. Dark was the one who cleared the path, the one who dimmed the lights enough for the others to come out. Being still very human themselves, they weren't completely averse to light, but the nightmare sand that ran through their veins had some influence over their states of humanity. When in the light, they were jumpy and a bit more distracted than they would have been in the darkness. And, for the obvious reason. They'd been living in a cave for ten years; of course they weren't going to be that used to the light.

So when Dark fell unconscious, the clouds that he and Tempest — who was also very conveniently out of the fight — had summoned to block out the moonlight broke up and dissipated, letting the light of the thin crescent moon and the stars flood in. The lights that Dark had put out in the initial charge also flickered back on, causing all of the remaining ten Nightmare Children to flinch and falter in their attacks.

Unknown scrambled to reach Tempest's limp form, but that accursed Frost kid blocked his path. Unknown's metal quarterstaff, which he had retrieved from the floor, swung up, and the weighted silver knob at the end of the staff crashed into Jack's jaw. He went reeling back, and the prepared projectile of ice and lightning went haywire. It zinged in all directions and found targets on Wrath, Death, Pain, Solitude, Suffering, Judgment, North, Bunnymund, Tooth, Sandy, and quite a few Yetis. They weren't completely knocked out, but they all received painful cuts and were thrown to the ground. Sandy and Suffering tumbled out of the air and had only a split second to right themselves. They crashed anyway.

Pain was the first to recover. "Fall back!" she commanded, her voice somewhat slurred from the aftershocks of being hit by lightning and an octave higher than usual due to the sudden light. She was the only one who didn't seem bothered by the shards of ice sticking out of her skin. "Retreat! Retreat!"

Nightmares galloped down from the skylight and their owners mounted them a bit too eagerly. Unknown got to his feet and struggled to drag the still-unconscious Dark away from the center of the chaos, though Shame stepped in and easily hoisted the unconscious Nightmare Child over her shoulder with a complaint that Unknown was being a wimp and needed to lift more weights. At a whistle, the boy's own Nightmare galloped up to him, and he hopped on. It sped off with him before he could remember who he had forgotten, and when he did, he was already too far to turn back. As he and his siblings fled by way of the skylight, he shouted to Pain and Wrath, "What about Tempest?"

"Forget her," replied Wrath, speeding ahead to get to the front. "Only the strong survive. She's just dead weight now."

But Unknown couldn't help but hesitate as he looked back at the quickly shrinking Pole in the distance before yanking up his sweatshirt hood, turning his back, and snapping the reins of his Nightmare to make it go faster.

Father was going to kill him for the mess he had made.

.

**If you have read my ridiculously long profile and have seen the Evil Overlord List posted somewhere within its abysmal depths, then you will remember that Tempest's trick of "returning to the path of light" was one of the those listed. I do not own this. All rights to this frankly quite clever tactic belong to Peter Anspach, the author of that genius list. I just could not help but use it, seeing as the opportunity just seemed to beg.**

**That said, bye for like idk how long because I've got school starting soon and I haven't touched my summer homework yet.**

**And then Unknown won't be the only one in deep crap.**


	5. Punishment

**Quickie post before I vanish into the unknown for nine months. Meaning a new school.**

**This seriously feels like the last meal before the execution.**

**chocykitty: It's actually quite an interesting book. It's another one about Greek mythology. The only problem is that the narration is as boring as all Asphodel…"He did this heroic thing. Then he did this. Then he left his wife on a rock to die. Then he went back. Then there was party thing. Then this king died. Blah. Blah. BLAH." Too bad I'm not at the private school anymore…their summer reading list this year included Unwind _and_ The Watch That Ends the Night****_. _****I mean…I read those years ago. But still, I'm jealous.  
>FlightFeathers: Mmm…Mystic did a lot of the elaboration on the fights. So yes, Pain and Tooth — that was all hers, with a bit of tweaking from me but not much. I <strong>**_was _****responsible for that Jack vs. Tempest mess… *facedesk* Dear gods, I really do hate her. Tempest, that is…I love Mystichawk.  
>MacaroniCheese: Did you mean: <strong>**_Dear Fanfiction Writers?  
><em>****Dark-Automaton: Ahh, I remember sleepovers…unfortunately the only sleepovers I ever go to are composed completely of Christian homeschoolers who still aren't allowed to watch anything above a PG rating without getting parental permission, and the one public school dork who is me…I may be a bit rusty in how regular sleepovers work. True, the homeschool sleepovers are fun. Homeschooled young writers can be incredibly morbid for people who aren't allowed to watch Hunger Games. But still, it's not the same.**

**Yeah…I just went on SpringHole and took the Mary Sue Litmus Test for Tempest, and she scored like a 78 or something… :|**

**That's why I hated her. It all makes sense now.**

* * *

><p>As he waited for punishment to be dealt, Unknown started to wish that Pitch actually <em>would<em> kill him.

He and his ten remaining siblings stood in a straight line — Dark had woken up on the ride home — before their father. They were ragged, exhausted, bloody, mottled with wounds, in some cases barefoot (somehow Solitude had lost both socks and one shoe ((?)) and Unknown had taken shoes and socks off when he'd snuck into the Pole), and splattered with neon paint. Yet Pitch showed them little mercy.

_"__Never _retreat," he snapped as he stalked up and down the line. He was agitated, that much was obvious. He was also angry — no, _livid,_ and each time he passed by, Unknown unconsciously shrunk a few inches lower, but Pitch was too preoccupied with his own thoughts and their failure to notice. If he hadn't been, he probably would have struck the youngest boy in his rage. "That is all I have told you for _years! _To _never _retreat, _never _back down, _never let them have the upper hand! _And what did you do? You let your sister get captured by the enemy and then just _left!"_

"It was Unknown's fault!" blurted Judgment as Pitch passed him near the end of the line. The other Nightmare Children's eyes flew to the youngest of their siblings as Pitch rounded on Judgment. Shame felt her shame-o-meters skyrocket and tried to suppress a grin.

_"__What?!"_ Pitch nearly yelped.

Unknown wished he could fall through the floor or turn invisible, but he knew the repercussions of hiding when his father was in a rage. All eyes were on him and he lowered his head, almost positive as to what was coming next. Punishment. He tried to shrink deeper into the shadows at the end of the line without actually disappearing, but the urge to run was overwhelming. Danger, who was standing beside him, elbowed him hard in the side and whispered not-so-quietly, "Busted."

"Yes Father," interjected Pain. "Tempest was knocked unconscious, but only after Unknown distracted her." She then commenced in laying out an account of events surprisingly detailed for someone who had, at the time, been dueling a very angry bird-woman hybrid with a sword.

Pitch kept his gaze fixed on Pain as she supplied the events of the battle and only when she had finished with a smug smile did he turn to the prosecuted.

"Is this true, Unknown?" he asked.

As always, the boy was avoiding everyone's eyes, but he didn't deny it. He just nodded mutely and continued to stare at the floor, holding his metal quarterstaff in the crook of one arm and keeping the other shoved inside the pocket of his hoodie. No one saw the tears brimming in his eyes and his clenched teeth as he tried to keep them from escaping.

The Nightmare King sighed mightily and, just as Unknown braced himself to be grabbed by the ankles and hung upside down by nightmare sand as befitted his punishment, he heard his father speak. "All of you, leave us. Clean up, then go practice in the training room."

"What?" several teenaged voices yelped at once.

"But _Dad — " _Danger whined.

"No buts!" Pitch snapped and most of them fell silent, except for Dark who was trying not to laugh.

"He said butts," the seventeen-year-old snickered to Shame, who had to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing too.

Pitch sent them both a glare and they shut up. Seriously, sometimes these kids acted like they hadn't aged a day since he named them.

"Just get out of here," he gritted his teeth and tried to keep himself from lashing out at the teenagers. Anger was a difficult thing to control, but he'd managed to keep it in with the kids. Mostly. He sighed and forced the words out. "Unknown, stay. We need to talk. Alone," he added to the others.

The youngest boy almost looked up then, his eyes wider than usual and his mouth slightly open, but he forced himself to keep looking at the floor. His father _wasn't _going to hang him upside down in front of the others? Well, that was a bit better, but now that they were alone he had no idea what punishment his father could inflict.

As the other ten filed out of the throne room Pain smirked at Unknown. Served him right. If the little squirt had just stayed out of the way, they might be celebrating the Guardians' deaths right now instead of marching off to practice. Wrath, angry and impulsive as always, glared at Unknown, and Death cast a sympathetic half-smile towards his brother. Death had a few suspicions as to what kind of punishment he was to be facing and, if not for the complete lack of morals in his soul, he might have felt sorry for him. As he did not have any morals and was currently more occupied with the fact that there was pink paint in his luscious locks of hair, he just smiled and sidled out with the others. Unknown saw none of this, however. For all three, the boy just stood there and kept his eyes on the stone floor.

When they were alone, Pitch sank down into his throne, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples in exasperation. His plan, his beautiful plan, was in pieces. He felt so tired, so angry, so strangely _old._ After all these years of planning, it had all come apart because of this…this Last Child, this one he had called his own son, the one he had hoped would become the most powerful. He had known that a few things could have gone wrong and he'd figured he could just find ways around them, but he had assumed that it would be the Guardians trying to sabotage his plans, not his own shirking, cowering _son!_

After a long silence, Unknown tentatively looked up for the first time since they had returned to the caves. When he caught his father's amber gaze piercing through him with a mixture of disgust and exasperation, he quickly averted them again.

"I can't say that I am highly disappointed in you, Unknown Black," said Pitch icily, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy's hoodie, "because that would be an understatement."

He didn't respond verbally, but Pitch saw him flinch at the words.

Pitch sighed. "Look at me, Unknown," he said, using the air of command he always held yet trying to make his tone softer. The boy was the epitome of a wallflower and would curl up into a ball if you so much as snapped at him.

That shaggy white head, hidden under the grey hood, lifted a bit so that he could see the shining yet colorless eyes peeking out from the shadows cast on his paper-white face. There was no emotion in them, just tentative, blank indifference. Unknown was skilled in the art of wiping all readable emotions from his face, but Pitch didn't have to be a professional body language interpreter to know what the boy was feeling — he was scared.

Somewhere, buried inside Pitch's cold heart, there was still a spark of life remaining. This spark felt for the boy and stirred something from a long ago memory — a memory that had been pushed away by the darkness inside. A memory of a dark-haired little girl giggling as she ran towards his outstretched arms, of laughter, and of light. Then the memory was gone like a flash of lightning, leaving Pitch the cold, empty shell of a being that he was. He could feel the memory slipping away into that void through which even he could not traverse, but he could also feel that spark of humanity in him glowing like a coal in a black hearth. And as he gazed into the eyes of the solemn boy before him, the image of the smiling girl returned — if only for the briefest of moments.

Pitch closed his eyes and began to rub his temples again. These blasted memory-flashes had been happening more and more often since he had welcomed the Nightmare Children into his home. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't really interacted with kids, except to scare them of course, for so long, or maybe it was just his blasted hard heart softening at the sight of such a fearful boy before him. Well, whatever it was, he was getting tired of it. If he didn't keep these children in line they might actually begin to use their heads and try to overthrow him, and that would not do at all. Danger already snuck out of the lair on a regular basis and he suspected Wrath and Dark slipped out once in a while to meet girls; if the others started to do the same he would start to lose his hold on them.

He looked up at Unknown. He examined the boy's skinny frame, grey hoodie, and metal staff, then sighed bitterly. He didn't know if it was some kind of sick joke on the part of the transformation magic or if it was just coincidence, but this boy looked so much like Jack Frost that it made him want to scream sometimes. He knew the boy couldn't help it, probably didn't have the faintest of ideas that even his wardrobe choices almost mirrored that of the winter spirit, but it still enraged him. It was like being constantly reminded that a skinny _child _had defeated him and his Nightmares. Even now, Frost was a constant thorn in his side and the thorn just dug itself deeper whenever he looked upon Unknown. Any deeper and it would soon pierce his heart, breaking something that might never repair.

After turning over different possibilities of the boy's fate during that long silence, Pitch decided to show a bit of mercy. It hadn't been entirely his fault anyway; he hadn't been ready. But of course Pitch couldn't just let Unknown off the hook entirely. That would send the message that he was sympathetic and weak, so he chose to disguise the mercy as a punishment. Honestly, the kid probably didn't care what happened to him, so long as it meant getting away from the penetrating, convicting gaze of his father.

"I have decided that you will no longer partake in these escapades of revenge," Pitch said finally, standing up and making an effort to sound disciplinary. Unknown's head shot up and Pitch was sure he could see relief in the boy's eyes before it vanished and his face was hidden by the mask of blank indifference once again. "You shall stay here at the lair while your siblings rescue your sister and deal my revenge on the Guardians." There. That sounded like a suitable punishment. And it might give him time to learn more about the boy's powers. If his siblings were gone, he might open up a bit more.

"They won't rescue her," blurted Unknown before he could stop himself. Pitch frowned, then an amused smile crept up his face and he sat back down in his black throne.

"Oh?" he asked. "What makes you say that?"

He looked away and whispered something inaudible. Pitch tapped the arm of his black marble throne to get his attention. "Unknown, you know I hate asking twice."

"Only the strong survive," he repeated, recognizable bitterness creeping into his words.

Pitch froze. Had the boy really just said that? Yes, maybe Pitch _had _told the children that himself and yes, maybe he _had _told them to abide by it with their lives because it might as well save them, but he hadn't really expected it to be used against him. As reluctant as he was to admit it, Pitch had grown fond of the children, especially Tempest. He knew it wasn't good to pick favorites, but she was just so obedient and eager to do whatever he wanted her to…a perfect puppet. And there was just something about her that reminded him so much of himself, and of that little girl in his elusive memories. Whatever he had told the children before mattered not now.

"True," he conceded, "very true. But there is a flaw in your logic, Unknown. Without Tempest, none of you would have survived for long in that fight."

Yes, Pitch was right. Without her and Dark, barely any of the siege would have been possible. Once she'd been knocked out, Dark couldn't hold the clouds there and couldn't block the moonlight.

"And just go into the training room, where your siblings are now, and you will see. I would bet that they are going at each others' throats by this point because Tempest isn't there to whack them back into reality."

He lowered his hooded head and nodded silently again. Again, what Pitch said was true. At the risk of sounding ridiculously clichéd and unbelievably pathetic, Tempest was like the glue that held the other Nightmare Children together — at least, when she herself wasn't fighting. Fiery enough to make people do what she said, horribly arrogant at times but smart enough to know when to stand down and let others step to the plate, strong enough to take a good dose of criticism, and flexible enough to fix what needed to be fixed or even improvise. A natural leader. Without her, they all just fell apart.

Unlike him.

Bitterness and self-resentment began to bubble in his chest, a familiar and dangerous mixture. He hardly ever felt emotions, but when he did, they were almost never good. Sure, he'd messed up pretty badly in the past, but this time he knew he deserved all the punishment in the world. Because if he had been the one to be captured, which he should have been, no one would have cared. They probably wouldn't even have noticed that he was gone, which was why he should leave the noble and nefarious deeds to his more capable siblings, right? He messed everything up, couldn't even assist in a siege without causing it to collapse. Useless, that was what he was. Pitch wouldn't lose anything by letting him stay at home.

But still, there was something that just didn't feel _right _about sitting at home and sulking while his sister was in the hands of the enemy. He felt the self-resentment being pushed back down by an emotion he'd never felt before. _Responsibility. _Tempest had stood up for him, given him a chance to prove himself. She had _trusted _him. She'd even _smiled _at him when he'd come back successful from infiltrating the lair. But then he'd let her down and it had all gone back to square one — back to when she thought he couldn't do anything right, when she'd only thought of him as a coward — all because of what he'd done.

Maybe if he could save her then he could be redeemed. Maybe she'd be proud of him again. Maybe she'd come back to Pitch on the back of his Nightmare, praising him as a hero.

Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance.

"I am finished with you, for now," Pitch continued. "When your siblings leave, we will talk more. Now, I would advise you to go to your room, maybe to the library. Just don't go near your siblings; give them a few to cool down."

"A few what?" Unknown asked, his voice wobbling in pent-up frustration. "Hours? Months? Years?"

There was a hesitation as the Nightmare King tried to choose. "I don't know. Try all three." He thought and then added, "Though I would go for one of the latter two."

Unknown nodded gravely, clenching his teeth in frustration with himself and completely missing the unintentional joke — because when had his father ever made a joke? "Yes, Father."

"Now go," said Pitch. "I have a rescue in need of planning."

The last and least of the Nightmare Children, the small albino with the seemingly harmless quarterstaff, only nodded again and slunk into the shadows.

XXXXXXXXX

Several thousand miles away, the North Pole was doing its best impression of a military sickbay. Patients lay on the beds of the many guest rooms, being treated by the less severely wounded. Bundles of gauze were being passed out and thrown away faster than Kleenexes and the amount of blood seen on the bandages was horrifying, to say the least. No one was without a job. The battle against the Nightmare Children had left the Pole and all its inhabitants in a dire state. It was lucky for North that it was only early January, because pretty much everything had been destroyed or at least damaged and they were back to square one.

The Guardians were doing no better than the rest. Even though they were immortal and healed from physical wounds very quickly, they could still be killed or wounded in battle. Bunnymund's fur was a torn, bloody mess. North felt older than ever and was forced to replace his favorite red shirt, which had been torn to shreds by Dark and Wrath. Jack had a broken nose (Tempest's work) and a dislocated jaw (Unknown's work).

Toothiana had several wing injuries and a nasty cut on her cheek, but these she ignored due to the death of one of her fairies — not Baby Tooth, thankfully, but one of her head lieutenants instead. The little bird had been killed by one of Loss's silver throwing stars, whether intentionally or coincidentally no one knew. The pain, both emotional and physical, was indescribable. It was like a part of her had been torn away, leaving her numb yet agonized at the same time.

The only one of the five who was still relatively intact was Sandy, but he wore a look of rage and utter hatred that did not fade for quite a while after the battle. They found that he had been fighting Suffering and from the angry sand images the other Guardians learned that the little dreammaker was utterly horrified that Pitch would send anyone like her to fight. Sandy was repulsed that Pitch would dare try to bring up such a poor, mistreated girl as a super soldier just for the sake of revenge. It made the other Guardians even angrier and North actually started shaking when he learned what Suffering had looked like.

"He has done some terrible things in the past," the usually jolly Guardian said coldly when they had all gathered together for a damage report and Sandy had told of his fight with Suffering. "But dis is de lowest. How could he possibly _live_ with himself after doing this?"

Sandy shrugged and made an outline of Pitch's profile.

"Sandy's right, mate, it is _Pitch _we're talking about," Bunny said. "He tried to kill us and hurt Jamie…what? Ten, eleven years ago, right? What makes now any more different?"

The other Guardians just nodded reluctant assent or adjusted the bandages on their wounds.

Several hours later, they received notice of all counted casualties. Five brave Yetis had died in the battle, but Phil, the one who had been struck by Tempest's arrow, was alive. Critically wounded, but alive and holding on.

Upon learning this, North was ecstatic and rushed to the Yeti's room. The others followed at a respectful distance.

"Phil, my friend, how are you doing?" North asked, bending down to inspect the wound. The doctor Yetis had cut the hair away from the puncture, which Phil was rather annoyed at, and then had taken the arrow out cleanly and carefully. Luckily for Phil, North kept a large supply of medicines and bandages in one of the many storerooms of the Pole, so he had been graciously unconscious at the time. When he had woken up, the other Yetis had carefully cleaned the wound and bandaged it tightly.

Phil made a low grunting noise and North smiled. "You are welcome, dear friend. You will live to fight another day."

The Yeti smiled back and the Guardians were about to leave him to get some rest when he raised a pained arm and said something in Yetish to North.

North stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened, then a furious scowl formed on his face. The other Guardians nearly flinched and when he turned back to Phil, his normally bright eyes were dark and narrowed to slits.

"Where is she?" he said in a low, terrifying voice that made Phil shrink a little back against his pillow. "What did you do with her?"

Phil said something else in that strange language that was incomprehensible to the other four Guardians, though they assumed the Yeti was talking about Tempest. In all the commotion they hadn't remembered the would-be murderess until now and when they did, their expressions all darkened along with North's as he listened.

"Whazzhe shayin'?" asked Jack, whose speech was somewhat slurred due to the special magic washcloth that he was holding on his broken nose to staunch the bleeding and quicken the already-quick healing process.

"Tempest has been…incarcerated," North replied slowly, obviously trying to keep himself from stomping down to find the girl and wringing her neck. "She has been put in only place secure enough for her kind. You know where that is."

Bunny's eyes widened. "Cell One? Ya would really go so far — "

"Wai', whaz Cell One?" inquired the nasally impaired winter spirit.

The four older Guardians exchanged glances. "Back when I was first building North Pole," began North, turning back to the others and heading out of the room. The other Guardians followed him as he headed for the stairs that led to the lower areas of the Pole. "Pitch had just been defeated. We were not sure if he would come back, so we were careful. I built prison cell in basement of Pole, special for Pitch or others of his kind in case he came back with friends."

"We call it Cell One," said Tooth quietly, whose eyes were still red and puffy from mourning. "It was built to hold Pitch for millennia, so it should be secure enough for his daughter."

Jack's eyes were hard as he followed the others and took the washcloth off his nose to increase the dramatic effect of his next one-liner. "We'll see about that."

XXXXXXXXX

North wasn't kidding when he said it was in the basement. Two hundred feet underground and built straight into the ice and rock, it was one of the coldest places in the Pole despite the special heating vents that had been installed decades ago. Bright fluorescent lights glared down from the ceiling of the dead-end hallway leading to Cell One, probably to prevent any shadow-manipulating spirit from melting into darkness and escaping that way.

When Jack voiced this theory, North had assured him that the lights were just extra precautions, seeing as shadow travel was virtually impossible anyway. The walls and brass bars of the cell's door were all infused with star sand, a magical element that North explained — with a little help from Sandy — could repel shadows and darkness so that there was no way she could use her powers to slip through the bars or pass beyond the walls.

Through the cell door, which was actually something of a gate seeing as it was just brass rails from floor to ceiling, they saw Tempest lying limply in the center of the white-walled, brightly lit room. She was out cold, so North pulled out a large golden key and unlocked the door. The second he entered and looked upon that girl's face, all the built-up rage exploded out of him and he stormed over to her, ranting and cursing in Russian and quite a few other languages. Tempest did not even stir. Tooth put a gentle hand on North's shoulder, then she knelt beside the girl and brushed her hair out of her face.

"She's just a kid," Tooth whispered, wiping a smear of blood from the girl's chin. "Fifteen, maybe sixteen at the most. I don't even think her wisdom teeth have come in yet."

Sandy summed up everyone's thoughts with a dreamsand question mark.

"This isn't about age or teeth, sheila," hissed Bunny, who refused to enter the cell. "She is Pitch's daughter. She started that attack on us!"

"She broke my nose, if you're wondering," put in Jack irritably, but since the flow of blood from his nose had intensified and he now did not dare take the enchanted washcloth off it, his words came out more like "see boke by node, ip yu wutherig".

"But still," Tooth protested, straightening up and fixing the other Guardians with a downcast look, "what kind of father would send his children, none of them more than _teenagers, _to eliminate his enemies?"

Sandy created a dreamsand image of the veiled face of the small, skinny Suffering, accompanying it with a very angry scowl of his own.

"You're right, Sandy," said Tooth. "It's cruel and inhumane, that's what it is."

North, who had calmed down somewhat after his fit, was now examining the girl thoughtfully. He still felt rage for his friend, but he knew that he should not act upon it. "I do not think they are even his real children," he suddenly said.

Sandy made the face of Pitch, then the face of Tempest, and melded them together.

"Yes Sandy, they are alike, but only in color and manner," said North. "I think…he must have given them his powers somehow. I don't know how, but something tells me that they are not his."

"The number, for one," Bunny muttered. "_Twelve_ kids? I can't imagine anyone having even_ one _with that bastard."

"That's even worse!" Tooth cried, obviously not hearing or ignoring Bunny's crude comment.

But her shrill cry had more repercussions than you might think. It pierced through whatever state of unconsciousness Tempest was in and she groaned, shifting her arm. The Guardians took several wary steps back. The girl groaned again and rolled onto her side, turning her back to the Guardians as she muttered something about sleeping in and reached for nonexistent covers to snuggle into. Upon finding none and placing her hand instead on the cold stone floor, her eyes shot open in surprise.

One second passed, then two. The Guardians stared down at her and she stared up at them. Then, without any form of warning, she leaped to her feet and, keeping both eyes on the Guardians, snapped up her hand for arrows in a quiver that wasn't there. Jack couldn't help but smirk contemptuously when he saw her surprise, but this smirk promptly vanished when Tempest whipped a hidden dagger out from the sleeve of her jacket and pounced for the closest one of them. Him.

It all happened so fast. One moment Tempest was confused and scared, the next she was behind Jack with her blade pressed against the soft, cold flesh of his throat. He tried to fight, but he had been drained of energy by the rapid healing and could barely land a punch before she yanked the staff out of his hands and threw it behind her. In one swift motion, she pulled him close and whispered mock-sweetly into his ear as the cold knife bit into his skin, "You might be cute, but I won't hesitate to murder you."

Jack would have nodded had there not been a very sharp object pressing against the relatively important thing that attached his head to the rest of his body. The way she had grabbed him and put him under the blade had been executed swiftly, fluidly, and within the space of a heartbeat. No one doubted that she could execute Jack in the same way.

"If any of you make a move I don't like," she threatened, her voice loud but slightly raspy, which didn't quite match her British accent, "I will kill him. And I'm not afraid to do it either."

Jack did not disagree. She was, after all, backed up in the proverbial corner with nothing to lose. But he still did not like the prospect.

He glanced nervously at the other Guardians. North had a hand on one of his swords, but didn't dare draw it. Bunny's fists were clenched and his green eyes were narrowed in cold hatred. Sandy was contemplative, yet determined, as if he was calculating how fast he would be able to knock the girl out.

Tooth just looked ashamed. "Sorry, Jack. I didn't think I'd wake her up."

"Can it, bird girl!" Tempest snapped, pressing the blade harder against Jack's throat. He gasped as he felt it break the surface of the soft skin, enough to let a scarlet path trace itself down his neck in a warning but not enough to do any vital harm. "Now, here's what's going to happen: we're going to leave. You're going to let me out of this prison, take me up to the open room, and let us leave. Frost'll be a big consolation prize for my father and it might even get me out of the doghouse, so I'll be taking him back with me. Oh," she smiled nastily. "I almost forgot. I'll be holding this pretty little blade at his neck the entire time, so if you decide to do anything stupid — "

Whatever she was going to say next was lost forever when her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed to the ground. The black dagger skittered out of her hands and Jack staggered backwards, clutching his bleeding throat and nose. Little dreamsand shapes of cherries — _why cherries? _they all wondered — floated around Tempest's head, and everyone instantly looked at Sandy. The little golden man just shrugged innocently and bent down to pick up Tempest's small black knife. It disintegrated into black dreamsand at his touch, then transformed into shimmering gold dust.

Tooth checked the girl over for more weapons — once being a warrior herself, she knew where girls hid their weapons — but found only a pouch of blue-tinted nightmare sand in her jacket pocket, which Sandy quickly eliminated. She also removed her black armor and any objects that Tempest could use to escape, i.e. hairpins, paperclips, earrings, and any other thing that could be used to pick a lock and/or stab someone. Jack, who was a little sick of having blades pressed to his throat, suggested chaining her up, but Tooth glared at him.

"She's still a child," she hissed, glaring at the other Guardians and daring them to disagree with her. "Hostile or no, we are _not _chaining her up."

"But — " Jack tried to protest.

Tooth gave him a look that put him in the shade, frost-wise, and repeated, "We are _not_ chaining her up."

After that fiasco, the Guardians decided wisely that it wouldn't be safe to stay in the same cell as the little assassin, so they exited Cell One and resigned themselves to watching Tempest through the cell door. They were waiting quite a while, during which Tooth chirped incessantly with some of the Mini Fairies that had followed her down and the male Guardians whispered about her overreacting "maternal instincts". They didn't want her to become too attached to the enemy, even and especially if it was a purely instinctive familial attachment.

After quite a while of waiting, Jack glanced over to Sandy and hissed through the washcloth, "Ow yog udtil see ways uh?" (Translation from Broken-Nose-ese to English: How long until she wakes up?)

Sandy seemed to get the gist without the author's parenthesized translations. He held up three fingers. Then two, then just his index finger. When that went down to a fist Tempest let out a howl of rage and blearily shouted something about finding out how fast an immortal winter spirit dies after his throat is cut. Real happy stuff. Jack actually winced.

"What — " she spluttered once she regained complete consciousness. She scrambled over to the cell doors and gripped the bars. "I command you, let me out!" Outside the Pole, thunder rumbled.

Jack wanted to say something flippant, but voted against it seeing as it would have made him sound ridiculous with the washcloth. He lifted said magical washcloth off his face experimentally. Hey, his nose felt like it was back in one piece again! And the bleeding had stopped entirely. "Wow, North. That's a really awesome washcloth," he remarked, which as he realized too late made him sound a whole lot more ridiculous than whatever it was he was going to say before.

The Guardians, the Yeti sentries, and Tempest all stared at him. Tooth whistled, "Random…"

"I'm going to ignore that now," said Tempest icily, which made her sound uncannily like Pitch once again. "And I will tell you only once more: LET ME OUT, or suffer the consequences."

"Suffer what consequences?" teased Jack, who had regained his sarcasm with his nose and voice. "Are you going to shock me?"

He got closer to her as he said it, which the other, older, wiser Guardians instantly knew was a bad move. North remembered too late that star sand only worked to prevent shadow and darkness-related powers, not electricity-related powers…

Before Jack could even jump back or raise his staff in defense, Tempest's slender arm shot through the bars and her finger brushed the back of his hand.

They all saw the spark of white-blue electricity that jumped from her finger to Jack's skin and no one missed the loud squeal let out by the surprised winter spirit as he jumped backwards. Upon looking back on the event, the spectators could recall that briefly Jack's skin had gone translucent and his skeleton had been visible by electricity.

"Like that?" replied Tempest, not without the hint of an amused smile. She really couldn't help it. When she had heard the first notes of sarcasm, her mind had automatically switched from Taciturn Assassin to Impulsive Teenager and had come up with, instead of an action that might help her get out, an action more reserved for her annoying siblings.

(It was a temporary malfunction, she would say later, in which her human side decided to make one of many appearances. Just a minor glitch in Pitch's webs of tampering, nothing meaningful.

Considering her drastic OOC-ness in the next chapter, this excuse can be easily ignored.)

But Jack wasn't without a counterstrike. Tempest's left hand was still gripping one of the brass bars of her cell door, and Jack quickly slid his fingers down that bar. Frost zipped down its length and froze Tempest's hand to the metal.

Tooth's hands were covering her mouth to hide her smile. Bunny was staring at them in a mixture of confusion, surprise, awkwardness, and disgust. Sandy was snickering silently. North sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Hey!" Tempest yelped indignantly before regaining her senses and reaching towards him again. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest or maybe call for help, but for either he was too late. An arc of lightning — _real _lightning, not just a little spark — shot from her fingers and grazed Jack's shoulder, sending him reeling backwards.

Angrily, Jack regained his footing, lifted his staff, and aimed at her, which was when North intruded. "THAT IS _ENOUGH,_ JACKSON OVERLAND FROST!" he roared.

Surprised and a bit hurt, Jack lowered his staff. "Oh come on! I was just gonna give her a bit of frostbite! I wasn't going to actually hurt her!

"Yeah, if you call encasing my body in a solid ice _'a bit of frostbite'_," muttered Tempest as she tried to pry her hand from the brass bar. "And of course you wouldn't hurtme, because I'd already be _dead _by the time it started to hurt." Her glare was withering by the time she reached the heavily inflected and heavily annoyed word. "Hey, could someone lend me a crowbar, or a hairdryer, or something? My hand's stuck."

"Serves you right," sniffed Jack.

To whom Tooth warned with "Jack…" as Tempest sent him yet another glare that was cold even by his standards. The air around her began to crackle with live electricity and shocking heat, and the ice securing her hand melted away as thin tendrils of flame and lightning spiraled up her fingers. Around Jack, the temperature dropped past freezing, past zero, past arctic temperatures, and swirls of frost and lightning that almost mimicked Tempest's began to race around the shaft of his staff.

North pulled the winter spirit back, and the Yeti sentries aimed their tranquilizer crossbows at Tempest. Apparently she didn't want to return to the land of unconsciousness because the hot, fiery aura around her faded and the tiny flames dancing in her palms went out, but the searing electricity and blazing heat still crackled in her eyes.

"Let's get Icepop outta here before he kills someone," Bunny suggested wisely, taking the slightly shaking winter spirit by the shoulder and steering him towards the exit.

"Or she kills him," Tooth murmured.

"Hey, it's not _me _you've gotta worry about," Jack sniffed, resisting Bunny's paw slightly. "It's just Sparky over here needs to learn how to conduct herself."

When no one laughed, Jack threw his hands into the air in exasperation. "Seriously? _No one_ gets that?!"

Bunny rolled his eyes but kept the firm grip on the young spirit's shoulder and forced him to keep walking forward. "We'll have'ta discuss what to do with the sheila somewhere else," he said firmly.

"At least, if you survive that long!" shouted Tempest through the bars. Jack thought her voice sounded breathy and a bit desperate and, against Bunny's wishes, turned around to look at her one last time. Her blue eyes were wide and, when they caught on his, and unspoken emotion bloomed in both of their eyes. Hatred. Jack turned away again, but not before he caught the tiny glimmer of something else lacing the bitter contempt. Could it have been…fear?

"My father will send my siblings to rescue me!" she hollered as North opened the door to the stairs.

"If dey do, we will just be ready for them," he said shortly as he ushered the other Guardians in.

"You will regret this!" she screamed, slamming her fists against the bars and shaking them with all her might. "I swear that you will regret ever laying a hand on me!"

"Sure, Thunder Butt," said Jack sarcastically before the door slammed shut and blocked out the protests of the howling Nightmare Child.

He didn't know that in a way, she was right.

**XXXXXXXXX**

**Every pun pertaining to the Nightmare Children will be facepalmed over, stored in the Pun Folder of my email inbox and used in the final chapter.**

**…**

**Huh.**

**Most people don't beg for puns. Usually it's reviews.**

**You know, I always get a good laugh when I find someone who never reviews anything but then at the end of their chapter threatens not to post another chapter unless she gets a million reviews or whatever.**

**Here we go.**

**…**

**OMGZ WASN'T THAT CHAPTRRR SOOOOO AWESOME YUP IM A TOTES AWESOME WRITRE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE WITH SUGAR AND CHERRIES AND SPARKLES REAVIEW WITH PUNS. REVIEWS PUNS AND FAVORITES ANDE FOLLOW! XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD I WIL NOT POST MORE CHHCHAPTERS UNTLL I GET ****_A MILLION_****REVIEWS AND ****_A BILLION_****PUNS! DID YOU HEAR THAT! ****_A MILLION BILLION! _that makes two billionXD****NOW GET OVER HERE AND REEEVIIIIIIEW! XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD**

**…**

**I'm sorry. School starts Wednesday. I'm trying to burn off as much sarcasm as possible so I don't piss off ****_all _****of my teachers this year.**


	6. Attempt (The First)

**Sorry for the wait...I just joined the school musical and practices are forever, plus I'm trying to keep myself from posting a chapter until I finish another one, so we don't have some crazy back-up like in Death's Embrace. :/**

**chibissima: You're very much right. Someone ****_does _****need to talk with Unknown about deep heart-to-heart stuff. I wonder what's going to happen starting in chapter 9? OoO  
><strong>FlightFeathers: I have other reason dear, but it's not til later. And…hmm…for some reason my methods for curing hateable characters is by either killing them painfully and making me pity them thus helping me not hate them so much, or by humiliating them and making them fall in love with the one person with whom it is extremely dangerous for them to fall in love — which I have found is one of the most effective. Love is one of the most powerful weapons out there, you know… ;)<br>******Mystichawk: OSHMYGODS YOURE HEREe. ASDFGHJKL;im just happy you're happy :D I kinda…added…a lot and I wasn't sure… '~' but aaaaaaaa I'm so glad you still like it! :) GUYS EVERYONE PLEASE READ AND REVIEW ALL OF THE AMAZING MYSTICHAWK'S STUFF. SHE IS THE WONDERWOMAN WHO MADE ALL OF THIS POSSIBLE AND UGGH WOOOOOWWWW. Thanks girly! :D**

****And Unknown494, even though you did not review or follow for that matter: Thank you for favoriting and almost giving me a Level 5 fangirl attack at three in the morning. You should know better than to do that to me when I haven't had sleep… Just kidding. Love ya kid, whoever you are ;P**  
><strong>

XXXXXXXXX

Naturally, Danger had to be the first to make the attempt.

Always Danger, and always first. She had to live up to her name, after all, and what better danger was there than sneaking out at night to infiltrate her father's worst enemies' base of operations? And right out from under her father's nose to boot! She hadn't even asked his permission before taking one of her favorite Nightmares and leaving with nothing but her two knives as protection. Of course Danger hadn't asked permission. What was she, a baby?

Danger had been outside the lair more times than all of the Nightmare Children combined and, after the first five years, the other Nightmare Children and even her father got used to her spontaneously disappearing. One time she had decided to take a midnight trip all the way to the nearest Six Flags just to hitch rides on roller coasters and brag that she had not only ridden every ride in the park, but ridden them all without seat belts — or, for that matter, _seats._

Of course, she had done it at night (making sure to avoid mortal eyes because she and the other Nightmare Children were still very human in the visibility/audibility/permeability aspect of it) so the feat was shared only with the disbelieving Nightmare Children and the disapproving Nightmare King. Boy, had he chewed her out for that one.

"Just because you are immune to the fear of danger and ninety-nine percent invincible to physical harm doesn't mean you can go gallivanting off to some theme park without a moment's notice and go ape-shit on flipping roller coasters!" Here Pitch had slipped into what you might call the "angry parent tone" and had even gone so far as to cuss his adoptive daughter out.

To which she had replied in a quite whiny tone, "BUT IT WAS _FUUUUUUUN!" _She knew it would tick her dad off royally and that he would get so mad that he would stomp off to brood in his room the rest of the night; it had happened before. Danger was certainly the _only _Nightmare Child who Pitch allowed to poke fun at him, but he knew that if she let the others know about half of her exchanges with him, he would probably lose complete hold on them. Not that she would. Oh no, Danger was having too much fun to let one of her other stuck-up siblings muscle in on one of her only joys in life.

Pitch had gone a murky shade of reddish-grey at the F-word and he was obviously trying to keep his cool. Danger's constant flow of "It was so awesome!" and "You won't believe how fast I flew when I jumped off the big loop-de-loopy one!" and "I can't wait to do that again!" wasn't helping.

After that last one, Pitch felt his blood pressure go through the roof. "YOU CAN'T WAIT TO DO IT AGAIN?!" he bellowed.

The girl wasn't even fazed. "Well, _yeah!" _Danger rolled her eyes and replied in her best dim-witted teenager voice, even though at the time she was only ten years old.

"WELL YEAH _NOTHING!" _Pitch thundered, causing all underground animals within a three-mile radius to run and hide in their burrows. "YOU, YOUNG LADY, WILL NOT BE GOING TO ANY AMUSEMENT PARK EVER _AGAIN! _IN FACT, YOU WILL NOT BE LEAVING THE _LAIR _FOR THE NEXT _THREE MONTHS!"_

Those words sparked an idea in Danger's mischievous mind and, against her siblings' wishes and to her father's utter infuriation, she continued to do crazy stunts similar to the Six Flags incident. Actually, that would be an understatement. As the years went by and she progressed from preteen to teen, she got _worse._

She went down Niagara Falls in a barrel and came home with both arms in slings and a mad grin on her face. She ziplined across the Grand Canyon and returned with an awesome video to put on her secret blog (appropriately named _Danger's My First Name _and the biggest hit for the mortal daredevil community since bungee cords). She once broke into and out of Buckingham Palace and came back with the queen's best bra tied around her head as a trophy. She had skateboarded on national monuments, climbed Mount Everest and sledded down the other side, eaten public middle school lunches — bags and metal lunchboxes and all or so she claimed — bungee jumped off the Empire State Building, and done pretty much every other dangerous feat that the mortal (or immortal) mind could think of.

And she had survived every one of them. _How, _now that was a complete mystery. She often came back with a few bruises and broken bones and, on one memorable occasion with half of her head shaved, but she always had that wicked smile on her face and no one had ever tried to stop her. She was a daredevil, to say the least, and the weirdest thing was…she enjoyed it more than anything!

That being said, Pitch was seriously distraught when he discovered she was missing and had taken his third-best Nightmare. It wasn't a mystery as to where she had gone.

"I swear," he muttered, sinking into his black throne and rubbing his temples furiously, "that girl is responsible for almost every single headache I have had since I took those children. She's more annoying than _Unknown!"_

Still, he had to hand it to the girl. She was resourceful and had slipped out of the lair unnoticed. That was quite a feat. Then Pitch sighed. What was he _thinking?! Praising _the girl after she had disobeyed him?!

_Well, she didn't really disobey me, _he mused sourly. _I never actually told them not to go, did I?_

"Shut up," he scolded himself aloud. Honestly, he would rather have a repeat of the Buckingham Palace incident than having her get hurt or captured trying to rescue her sibling. "It's that damn morality streak!" he muttered. "She's too — too…" Pitch couldn't say the word, but he knew it in his heart. _She's too damn human._

It was true. Danger was the most stubborn and the most reckless and frankly the most _bone-headed _of the children. She never thought through things, she just went and did them. She never thought about the things she did and never cared about the consequences. In that way, she was definitely human, but it was when she spontaneously ran off like this that she showed her spirit side. Her rebellious side. The side that made him think of himself at a different time in his life.

XXXXXXXXX

While Pitch was having his long TV sitcom moment, Danger was trying to figure out how to get herself into the North Pole undetected.

Though she was quite annoyed with Unknown for ruining the siege, getting her sister kidnapped, interrupting her fight with the warrior bunny, et cetera, she had to silently thank him for several things. One, giving her a chance to put her life on the line again — it was just so fun! — and two, leaving the loopholes in the magical barriers open. Otherwise it would have been much too hard, even for her. So while her father had been mentally moaning about how her breaking and entering skills were getting _too _good, it hadn't been her doing at all! All she had done was sneak out.

That wasn't to say she was a _bad _sneak. She was actually one of the best. The problem was that she got easily distracted. Not only was she a teenager, but she also had ADHD — something her father had despaired of on multiple occasions — and partial short-term memory loss. Now, anyone who knows anything about these two disorders (and if you're anything like me you _will _know, seeing as I have mild cases of both) knows when one acts up, the other is sure to follow.

She had gotten as far as the big window in the main workshops before something shiny caught her eye, literally. It was a sleek black paintball gun resting on a worktable, similar to one of those which the elves had been using in the battle, except larger. No one was around because the Yetis and elves were somewhat preoccupied with cleaning up the post-battle mess and caring for the injured.

Danger tried to resist. She really did, but the shining, polished barrel began to call her name. _Daaanger, Daaaaanger!_

Paintball guns had been banned from the lair, for obvious reasons. And because Danger liked pretty much anything that was banned, she had an insatiable love for guns. Any kind of gun — paintball guns, BB guns, handguns, shotguns, rifles, machine guns, Nerf guns, squirt guns, and especially the nice, old fashioned _Gatling_ guns! She loved the kick when they shot and the boom of the bullet igniting the target…it was almost inconceivable that she _wouldn't_ like them!

So before she could restrain herself or remember what her task was, Danger darted out into the open and snatched the paintball gun from the table. A maniacal grin spread across her dark face as she held it and her eyes flickered with that mad violet glow of glee.

In the back of her mind she knew that she had a job at hand, but that was almost completely pushed aside in her mind as the excitement made her fingers buzz and her mind race with the possibilities. The paintball gun was in her hands; there was no going back now until she satisfied that excitement. She had to _shoot_ something. Her sharp eyes focused on a table of little red toy robots, which for some unexplainable reason were the only thing in the Pole that were still immaculately stacked after the battle. Perfect. That inane grin on her face grew ever wider and a little giggle began to rise in her throat as she lifted the gun, looked through the scope, aimed, and set her finger on the trigger —

But the shot would never be fired for at that moment, a large, strong paw yanked her up by the hood of her zip-up sweatshirt.

"What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing here?" demanded an Australian-accented voice.

Before she could even focus on the identity of her attacker, Danger kicked out with her Converse-clad feet and used her momentum to flip in the air, landing lithely and drawing her red-bladed knives. She lunged towards a somewhat surprised Bunnymund and he only had a second to whip out his boomerangs and parry her knife strikes.

They were meant to be used for throwing, but one could fight with them too. Unfortunately for Danger, the Pooka was a master at both.

When Danger attempted a roundhouse swing with the knife in her left hand, like it was a sword instead of just a five-inch blade, Bunny caught it with his boomerang and twisted his wrist so that it pushed Danger's hand back, forcing her to drop the knife. Now she was left with just one knife and was caught somewhat off guard by the speed and ease that the Pooka had accomplished in disarming her. This moment of distraction was enough for Bunny to lunge forward, wrest the other knife from her hand, grab her long braid of black hair, twist the girl around, and hold the blade to her neck.

_"__Danger," _snarled Bunny contemptuously. It wasn't like they had stopped and exchanged formal introductions, but it was pretty obvious. The hair, the face, and that _highly disturbing _glow in those maniacal violet eyes. There was nothing sane or normal in those eyes. Bunny saw no fear, surprise, defeat, or sadness in them. Just that insane light that made shivers trickle down his spine. Even though there was a very pissed-off Pooka holding her under a knife, the corners of her lips were tilted up in a grin.

"What are you smiling at?" snapped Bunny. He was really unnerved by how calm she seemed. It freaked him out!

"There's a lot ya don't know about me," she sang cheerfully before she twisted out of his grasp and yanked her braid out of his hand (paw?). "First and most importantly, I _never_ play fair."

Bunny gasped when he felt the knife blade slide across her skin. He hadn't actually meant to _hurt _her, all he was doing was making sure she wouldn't escape! _Well, you see how _that _turned out,_ he thought to himself angrily as the escaped Danger turned to face him with her other knife in hand. His eyes automatically zeroed in on her neck and he felt his jaw drop when he saw that the blade hadn't even cut her skin! No blood had been drawn and she was still wearing her insane grin.

"The curse of the Styx is a real advantage sometimes," she remarked brightly as she charged Bunny again. "You should consider it!"

Bunny cursed. He sidestepped as Danger ran towards him, then hooked his legs around to trip her. She went sprawling, but she turned the sprawl into something of a mid-air somersault and was on her feet in the space of a second. Exactly as Bunny had hoped. When she spun around with her remaining knife at the ready, he grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder so suddenly and with so much force that her weapon flew out of her hands.

"HEY!" she shouted, kicking her feet and not hitting anything. "That's so not cool! Let me go so that I can fight you fairly!"

She herself did not play fairly, but she expected others to? That made no sense. Bunny sighed and drew his boomerang.

"Yeah, that's right!" she grumbled. "Now lemme — " She was promptly cut off when Bunny reached up and none-too-gently thwacked her on the back of the head with his boomerang, then he let her slide down and into his arms, bridal-style.

"Shut it," he admonished.

Danger was still awake, albeit in a state of blurry semiconsciousness, when she slid down into the giant rabbit's arms, and Bunny smiled in satisfaction when he saw those unnerving violet eyes cross. Of course, this satisfaction evaporated when he heard her voice again. "Hehe…fuzzy bunny!" she giggled, not even trying to fight the oncoming unconsciousness before she went out completely cold.

Bunny just stood there for a second with Danger in his arms, gazing down at her face and trying to think of what to do. Even while unconscious she had a sort of reckless air about her, like she would bolt awake at any second and scare the living daylights out of him. It was something that he hadn't seen much of since North's younger days, back when he was that devious, fearless bandit king who required adult supervision whenever he entered a room containing sharp objects. They had the same aura of pig-headed disregard for themselves and North still actually retained some of that power, though it only showed itself when he was particularly excited.

"Did you just almost get owned by a girl?"

Bunny's head shot up and he saw Jack, sitting casually on a worktable nearby with his staff over his shoulder. The Pooka rolled his eyes. "No," he replied sourly, turning his back to the winter spirit.

"Oh," said Jack sarcastically, not trying to hide the grin as he hopped off the table and flew up and over Bunny, coming to land right in front of him. "Because it looked an awful lot like she _escaped _from you with her awesome 'physical invulnerability'. And at first you looked really surprised, but no. That must have been a trick of the light. Sure. She _didn't _almost own you."

"Stop trying to use modern slang," sniffed Bunny indignantly, avoiding the subject. "It just makes ya sound ridiculous. Now will ya call the other Guardians? Tell 'em we've got another one."

Jack stood straight and saluted crisply. "Will do, General Fuzzy," he replied before making a speedy exit.

_"__HEY!" _Bunny snapped as the laughing winter spirit sped away. Then he looked down sharply at the girl in his arms. She was still in dreamland. Good. Then he shook his head and furrowed his brow. Why on earth should he care? The girl was creepy and, more importantly, she tried to kill him! Why should he feel anything for her but disgust and hatred?

And yet…when he looked down at the Nightmare Child in his arms he couldn't keep his stern expression from softening. She looked so much like just a regular kid, just another teen exhausted from a long night of staying up and fooling around with friends, except that her eyes were still moving beneath the closed lids and her lips moved faintly even though she said nothing. Either she was faking unconsciousness and plotting his downfall, or she was having a dream. Or a nightmare, more likely.

Apparently it was the latter because just then, she winced and burrowed her head into his chest. Bunny flinched and almost dropped her, but he kept his cool and started off in a brisk jog towards Cell One. The more he walked, the farther Danger's head snuggled into his furry chest. The hints of a smile — a true, contented smile, not the nearly insane one of battle — even twitched at the corners of her lips.

_Oh joy, _he thought. _I've got a fan._

XXXXXXXXX

Tempest was sulking in her cell when Danger was carted in. She had been sulking for several (dozen) reasons, but the worst of them was that North had invented something new, and it wasn't a toy. No, this new invention was even more annoying than that little doll that said "Mama!", which was pretty annoying in itself. The source of her irritation was a kind of magical shackle that prevented her from using any of her powers.

From the outside, it looked like a piece of metal fashioned into a smooth ring and placed around her neck like a collar. Unlike a regular metal collar however, the ring wasn't too heavy or clunky, weighing almost nothing and actually quite cool and comfortable on the skin. Still, it was extremely annoying and rather humiliating to wear, and that blasted Frost kid had popped in on her to make fun several times since North had put the thing on her. The ancient warrior-wizard had had to use the dreamsand — that hated substance — to keep her in stasis and she hadn't done it willingly, but the deluge of dreamsand had been too powerful and she'd woken up with that thing around her neck and a really dry mouth.

But on the bright side — at least for her — the collar did not restrict her from cussing out and/or sending winter spirits very bad gestures, and Frost had left with a damaged ego and a request to North to work on annexing a feature that actually _did _prevent her from doing anything else pride-damaging. North told Jack that if she was being rude, she probably had a reason. So the Guardians had left her alone after that.

For about two hours.

Then Bunnymund came storming down the hallway in all his furry Australian glory, holding a girl in his arms. Tempest groaned when she recognized the paint-splattered Converse, ripped skinny jeans, red hoodie, ridiculously long black braid, and t-shirt with the radioactive symbol emblazoned on it. A similar collar had been clipped around the girl's neck.

She facepalmed. She had bet herself that it would be at least three hours until someone had the audacity or the stupidity to come for her. She had been off by at least an hour. "Danger!" she groaned.

The Guardians and the Yeti sentries stood watch and kept their weapons up as Bunny carefully unlocked the cell door, opened it, shoved the still-unconscious Danger into the cell, and slammed the door shut. Tempest just stared at them, somewhat amused. "What, did you think I was going to run or something?" From the look on Bunny's face, that was exactly what he had been thinking. "With no way to fly out of this place and half the strength I came with?" The Guardians retained their stony expressions and Tempest smirked. "Morons."

They all exchanged glances. "She's got a point," commented Jack.

"Shut it, Frostbite," Bunny growled irritably.

"Hey, I'm on your side," Jack said, raising his hands and taking a step back. "It isn't my fault you got owned by — "

"I said _shut it!" _Bunny roared, rounding on Jack.

Tempest would have loved to watch the show, especially when Tooth started yelling at Bunny, but she had other things to think about. She glanced at Danger's limp form and couldn't help the smirk that crawled up her lips. Her sister's head had tipped over and now she was lying limply on her side like a rag doll that had initially been propped up into a sitting position but was a bit too top-heavy to stay that way. In addition, her jaw had unconsciously fallen open. Tempest rolled her eyes. Her sister was such a _human. _Always joking and, even when she was asleep, the center of attention.

"Aren't you going to help her up or something?" asked Bunny, jolting her out of her musings.

Tempest blew a raspberry and laughed. "No. Why in darkness would I do that?"

"Because it's the good thing to do," replied the Pooka with one eyebrow raised. Tempest felt the side of her that was like her sister — the very small human side of her — surface for an instant as she wondered why, and more importantly _how,_ the rabbit had eyebrows. Seriously, he was covered in fur! How the heck _did _he have eyebrows? Just like Jack's dark brows versus his white hair…how did that work? Funny thing, those brows were. Then Tempest realized she was staring and her eyes traveled down to meet his. What was she coming to?!

Tempest and Bunny had a short staredown, neither of them ever breaking eye contact. "Do I look good in _any _way to you?" she asked, her gaze flicking away from Bunny to travel around the room. None of the Guardians would meet her eyes except, surprisingly, Jack. His piercing sapphire eyes stayed glued on her for what felt like an hour, but was really five seconds, then she looked away and he blushed. "Any of you?"

"Uh, yeah!" Jack snickered, without thinking. Everyone looked at him quizzically, loathingly, or awkwardly. His pale face started creeping with more blush and he stammered as he realized _whoops_, "I — I mean, um, you look good as in, um, _physically _good; as in yeah your makeup held up — but not good, like, _good _good! As in kind, benevolent, _caring — " _Okay, now he was just trying to mess with her. Partly. Barely. Okay, okay, maybe he was babbling to try to save himself, but he was really just digging a deeper hole.

(Call it "twoo wuv", call it overreacting hormones after three hundred years without talking to a girl his age, call it whatever you want, but later he'd deny it all.)

"We get the picture, Jack," said Tooth tightly. She rolled her eyes. "Teenagers these days, ye gods…"

North snorted behind his hand and looked away when Tooth shot him a very effective death glare. Sandy made an image of a heart with an arrow through it and held both thumbs up.

Tempest fake gagged and made her most disgusted face. "Uh, as _if!"_

"Oh yeah, _you're _the disgusted one. What, are you too _'out of my league'?" _Jack made sarcastic air quotes with his fingers. "Yeah right. If this was high school, I wouldn't even _look _at you when you begged me to go to the dance with you."

She stared at him with a weird look on her face before saying slowly, "That is _literally _the dumbest insult I've ever heard, and I live with Judgment for darkness's sake."

Jack snorted. "Hey, you're the one who called me _Ice-for-Brains. _Oh yeah, so clever."

If she'd been a dog, her hackles would have gone right up. "It was on the spur of the moment! I could think of a _lot _better puns if I had time!"

"Oh please. They're not even puns. But hey, if you say you can do it, go right ahead."

"Well, I never — "

"Yeah you did. Now shoot."

She got this look on her face like she was trying to swallow a whole gumball and was really mad at it. Meanwhile, the other four Guardians were nearly speechless.

"Should…should we do something?" Bunny hissed to North, who just shrugged helplessly. Sandy shook his head and put his finger over his mouth.

"Sandy's right, guys. I kinda want to see how this turns out," whispered Tooth.

So they all fell silent and turned their eyes back to the girl in the cell, who was still furiously trying to think of a good nickname for Jack.

Finally Tempest forced out rather weakly, trying to sound strong, "Frosty the Snowman."

There was a cold silence, and then Jack started…laughing. He laughed and laughed and laughed like he would never stop. "That's — that's the _best _you can do?" he choked on his own chortles. "Dang, Thunder Butt, step up your game!"

"You already used Thunder Butt," spat the Nightmare girl. She added under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear, "Jackass."

Tooth let out a very interesting noise that was half gasp, half snort. Sandy clapped his hands over his mouth and a huge bubbly sign that said _PUN! _popped over his head.

"Excuse me," Jack scoffed, pretending not to be offended.

"What's the matter, Elsa? My game too tough for you? Why don't you just…" (and here she grinned an evil grin that put all other grins to shame)

"…_let it go?"_

Jack understood the reference. He didn't like it. "No way, you little…son of a Pitch."

Which at first would have worked, at least if Tempest was a guy. She caught it, and tutted condescendingly.

"Already getting your facts mixed up, Frostitute."

His eyes narrowed. "Pesty."

"Frozone."

"Low-watt — "

"Below zero — "

"CUMULONIMBUS!"

Tempest gasped as if he had just dissed her mother, her mouth open and eyes wide. "How _dare _you — " Then the shocked expression turned into a glare and she practically threw herself at the prison bars, clawing the air and shrieking like a wild animal. "GET BACK HERE YOU INSOLENT, COWARDLY, STUPID, IMPUDENT M — "

"Whoa, whoa, WHOA!" Jack scrambled back, nearly crashing into Bunny who, like the other Guardians, didn't seem to know what to do. "Holy crap, wouldja just _chill?! _It was just a freaking joke, that's all…"

"Hey, hey! Calm down, you two!" Bunny finally stepped between the two elementals, scowling intensely.

"He called me fat!" Tempest growled, never taking her glare off the winter spirit.

Jack waved his hands in the air, clearly exasperated. "I also said you were pretty. Look, now it's even."

_"__You — !"_ The girl was _literally _foaming at the mouth. Her breath caught in her throat and she almost choked, so she took a deep, slow breath and turned away from everyone as she tried to calm herself. Her fists were still clenched and her shoulders shook.

"She's _crying?" _Jack muttered, half annoyed and half appalled with himself. "What — what did I do — "

"I'm not crying, d-bag," Tempest spat.

"Uh, excuse me — " he tried to object, but North stopped him.

"Jack, don't," he said, his voice very low.

Promptly, Jack closed his mouth. He knew better than to argue with North — not that he ever had, but he'd heard of the brawls Bunny and North had been in so often when they were younger spirits. However he felt like he should at least protest at the wizard's next words:

"Apologize to her."

"WHAT?!" was the first thing to fly out of his mouth. The very thought was repulsive to him. _Apologize _to the daughter of Pitch, who had _clearly_ started the argument? "Why?! She deserves it — and — and I was being _nice! _Why'd I have to apologize for being nice?!"

"'Nice' is open to translating," North replied sternly, folding his arms in just the right way for the _Nice_ and _Naughty _tattoos to look Jack in the eye. "Now sorry. Tell her."

Jack sighed melodramatically and said it. "I'm sorry for telling you that you're pretty. I didn't mean it."

Tooth punched him on the shoulder. Jack pretended that it didn't hurt and made a mental note to check for a bruise later, when no one else was watching.

"Okay, okay, jeez. Fine. I'm sorry for telling the truth and saying that I don't have a crush on you. To set the record straight, I don't. Thank Moon for that."

Tooth punched him again, but Tempest seemed to accept it. She actually stopped glaring at Jack and instead turned away.

"Okay?" Bunny coughed to get their attention. "Now that we're all happy, can we please do something about that crazy imp lying on the floor? I dunno, but that don't look comfortable."

Then he gulped when Tempest's eyes were drawn to him. She wasn't mad anymore — instead, this was something like _curiosity._

She peered at him with those intent violet-blue eyes for a very long time and, after shooting Jack a nasty smile, said slowly, "Hey, speaking of crushes — "

"I DO _NOT _HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU!" roared Jack, but everyone ignored him.

" — why does it seem like you really care about the well-being of my good sister Danger here?" Tempest finished.

Bunny's green eyes bulged and he felt his mouth go slack. "Uh…um…no! No, it's _not _what it sounds like! I do NOT like Dang…ger."

His denial petered away in his throat as Tempest shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Shameful. Absolutely shameful, and this is coming from someone who lives down the hall from Shame personified. The Guardians of Childhood are lying to a child."

"Child?!" repeated North incredulously, staring at the cynical prisoner. "Girl, you are no more child than I am elf!"

"Under eighteen," Tempest replied crisply without hesitation. "Still a legal minor. So screw you." She was glad to see North's face redden and let a full smirk scrawl across her face.

Then she caught the gaze of one of the Guardians and her good mood was shaken slightly. Toothiana's buzzing wings had slowed their speed slightly as she watched her intently and, for the first time, Tempest was creeped out by one of the Guardians. _Oh please, _she sniffed inwardly. _I'M supposed to be the one to creep people out, not the other way around!_

The other Guardians went silent when they saw the quizzical look on the bird woman's face. "Is there something…wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

The others gave the fairy an unsure look. "What could possibly be wrong with me?" asked Tempest with a completely straight face.

Tooth cocked her head as a smile creased her mouth. She resisted the urge to say _plenty_, and instead said, "All of a sudden you're so…peppy."

"PEPPY?!" spluttered Tempest indignantly. "I am not _PEPPY!"_

"All right, all right, maybe that's the wrong word for it," amended Tooth hastily, lest she suffer the verbal wrath of Tempest — the girl knew a surprising array of rather colorful words that she could summon at the drop of a hat. "Maybe…energetic? Talkative? Hyperactive? _Non-hateful of us?"_

The Guardians murmured assent and Tempest considered this. All traces of the devious, heartless assassin from the battle were gone and she had to admit, the banter made her feel more alive than she had in _ages. _"Small spaces and bright lights get to my brain," she dismissed, waving her hand and turning away so that the Guardians wouldn't see her face. She knew it was slightly pink. "Especially the confinement part of it. I'm an element. I like being free. If I'm locked up, I tend to go a bit nutty. That's probably what's going on now."

"But if you like being free," interjected Jack, "then why do you work for Pitch?"

No one really knew where this came from. Tempest, when she heard it, whirled around. The Guardians stared at Tempest. Tempest stared at Jack. Jack didn't back down. Danger yawned something incomprehensible. Everyone ignored Danger.

"Because he's my father," Tempest replied after some thought and confusion. "He brought me and my siblings up, loved us, cared for us. Okay, sure, maybe his disciplinary methods are a bit…uh…_over the top,_ but whatever, you know? What do you expect from a guy who's lived alone for thousands of years? He gave us a home, and all he asked in return is that we made him proud. So we did." She paused and glared up at the Guardians. "Or, at least, we tried."

"And look how that turned out," grumbled Danger blearily, shaking her head and sitting up.

"Aww, look who's awake, _lover bunny," _cooed Jack into Bunnymund's ear.

"Ah, just shaddup," hissed Bunny irritably. He was sick and tired of people, namely Jack and Tempest, teasing him about holding Danger! She was a vicious warrior who had almost killed him _twice!_

Danger seemed two hundred percent more disgusted with this than Bunny was. "Wait — _WHAT?!"_ she squealed in a voice that could break glass, then turned the panic in her eyes into a glare that she directed towards Tempest. "Em, _what exactly did you say?!"_

Tempest held her hands up in surrender. "Hey…don't kill the messenger for delivering the message."

Danger cocked her head and frowned as she tried to decipher the meaning of this, and then her eyes were drawn to a very irritated Pooka as he stormed off with his ears slicked back against his head. Tooth giggled and the two girls in the cell blinked.

"What's so funny?" asked Jack, obviously thinking along the same lines as the two.

"Oh, it's just that…" Tooth let out a very unladylike snort. "Bunny's ears were twitching like crazy."

"So? He's a twitchy bunny," said Jack with a completely straight face. "His ears _always _twitch."

"Not at that angle, though," replied Tooth deviously, rubbing her hands together with glee. "When they twitch at _that _angle…he's lovestruck and embarrassed about it."

"Oh," Jack replied. He did a double take. "Wait, how do you know?"

Tooth's evil smile faltered and North and Sandy grinned. "Oh, um, ah…"

Tempest sighed and leaned against the wall of Cell One, examining her nails and frowning when she saw that the dark blue polish was chipping off. She'd have to redo them whenever she got out of this mess. "What a beautiful TV sitcom moment. I almost wish I wasn't stuck in this cell. If I wasn't, I'd give you all a big hug." Sarcasm dripped from every word.

"See what I mean?" Tooth hissed, gesturing to the girl in the cell. Tempest, that is. Then she leaned in to whisper to Jack. "She's changed in the few hours she's been in here."

Jack nodded and stared at Tempest through the bars of the cell. It was true. She was certainly still the surly, rude teenager she had come in as, but they were beginning to see a different side of her. The cocky side that Tempest herself had only ever shown when she was practicing and in her only battle.

"Boy, I wish Shame were here," she remarked offhandedly, glancing at Danger.

Danger's dark chocolate-colored cheeks looked a bit reddish, and her eyes darted here and there incessantly. "Why…?"

"She's got something of a love-o-meter up there in that twisted mind of hers," Tempest explained to her sister and the amused Guardians. "You'd know that if you weren't always running off to skateboard down the Saint Louis Arc and whatever you do." The other Guardians shared a confused look. Did Danger actually…? "And she'd be able to read you like an open book, Ice Brain," Tempest added, giving Jack a sly wink.

"WHAT?" spluttered "Ice Brain", more confused by the wink than the words spoken. "But — but why me?"

Tempest stayed silent for a long time as she found sudden interest in the floor. Then, when she finally raised her head to regard the youngest Guardian, they saw that she was giving him a look of cold, undisguised hatred.

"Because," she said slowly and quietly, almost too quietly, "I want to know."

There was a stone cold silence, during which the average temperature of the room dropped at least fifty degrees and everyone's breath hung misty in the air. Tempest continued to stare at Jack and Jack continued to stare at her. Exhaling slowly, Sandy tapped North's leg. The big man read the silent message in the little man's golden eyes, nodded, and turned to leave. "Jack, let's go," he said gruffly.

Begrudgingly, Jack broke the gaze and followed Sandy North, and Tooth.

He didn't look back, but he could feel Tempest's eyes watching him until the moment the doors closed behind him.

XXXXXXXXX

Once the doors were shut and they were alone, Danger turned to high five her sister. "Nice one, sis!" she laughed, but Tempest was apparently not in the mood. She turned away and faced the wall, a habit more suited for Solitude than Tempest.

"Fine," Danger huffed, folding her arms and flopping her lanky legs on the ground. "Be like that."

The sisters were quiet until the smaller girl added, "Though I must say…if Dad finds out about your developing crush on same guy he spent like _ten years _training you to kill, he is _not_ going to be happy."

"I know," Tempest whispered.

XXXXXXXXX

Down in Pennsylvania, the sun was rising and the Nightmare Children were fast asleep in their beds.

Well, most of them.

The youngest stood alone behind the closed doors of the training room, bare-chested and barefoot. It was very quiet when everyone was asleep. He liked the silence; it reminded him that there was no one left to judge him.

He shook his head, ignoring the white feathers that fell in his eyes. No, he couldn't just sit and be poetic anymore. He had to do this. If he was going to be a hero, he had to train like one.

He glanced down to the light steel staff in his hand, then up at the rack of weapons on the wall. Shaking his head again, he set the staff against the wall and turned to the other weapons. Swords, axes, bows, spears…

He thought back to the fight with Jack. _Speed, _he said to himself. _I'm not fast enough. I…I have to be fast, and sly, and cunning._

He took a throwing knife. It was balanced in the handle and in the blade to give it a spin, though it felt strange and unbalanced in his hand.

The targets, against the opposite wall, seemed to be watching him as he stood with the knife in his hand. Mocking him, daring him to go ahead. He tried to visualize Danger's expert tosses, but for some reason as he brought his arm up in the same way it didn't seem to feel as easy as it should have.

A sudden wave of anger and frustration overcame him and, without thinking about form or grace or not rushing the throw, he hurled the knife at the closest target with all the strength he could muster. He imagined it flying forward in a whirlwind of silver, glinting in the dim light before slamming home in the center of the target. He imagined being proud of something he'd done. He'd had a taste before, with Tempest's smile, with Solitude's "Nice job, kid" — and he wanted it again so badly that if all the pride was for was a knife in a target, then he'd be happier than anything.

But the knife's spin wasn't straight and it bounced on the floor, chipping a small mark in the rock ten feet away from where he stood.

The frustration began to rise again and to keep it down, he took another knife, gripped it hard enough to turn his knuckles five shades whiter, and ran towards the targets. A part of him wanted to let out a battle cry, but he knew that if he did it would wake his siblings and they'd be onto him like lionesses onto a crippled gazelle. So instead he clenched his teeth and gripped the knife tighter and imagined the fearsome, bloodthirsty howl ripping itself from his mouth as he drew back his arm and let the knife fly into the heart of an enemy…

…before watching it hit the wall five feet to the right of the target and clatter uselessly on the ground.

Tears began to prickle in his eyes and he blinked rapidly to clear them. _No. _If he was training to be a hero, he had to act like one. Warriors and heroes didn't cry.

_What would a warrior do?_

The monkey bars. Those were the closest. He threw himself at them without a second thought, clambering to the top rungs before even considering what he was doing. Sweat made his hands clammy as he momentarily glanced down and realized how high up he was and how unstable these thin metal bars were, but he grit his teeth, wiped his hands on his shorts, and grabbed the first rung.

It didn't end well. He'd only made it to the third one before his fingers started to slip, and before he knew it he was lying on his back atop a next-to-useless foam mat with the wind completely knocked out of him.

The climbing wall was next. He'd done it before, but it had been a long time ago and with one of the harnesses that everyone had used at one point or another but they all now said were for wimps.

That, too, ended with him on his back and gasping like a fish out of water.

Okay, okay, well at least he could lift weights. Everyone lifted weights. He wrapped his fingers around a twenty-pound, sure that he could at least pump that a few times, and heaved it up above his head with all his might.

Wrong. The weight dragged him down and he went head-over-heels, ending up on his back.

He tried swords. He tried spears. He tried archery. He tried javelins. He tried the benchpress. He tried the chin-up bar. He even tried that crazy obstacle challenge Solitude and the girls had constructed entirely out of tires and braided yarn. For darkness's sake, he even went on the treadmill and pressed the speed up so fast that he could only run for three seconds before flying off and crashing into the mattresses that someone had put up behind the treadmill just for the sake of whatever moron had the lack of brains to do what he'd just done.

He even went after the punching bag with what he was sure was Loss's signature side kick and landed a nice one, only for the bag to swing back at him, slam into his body, and send him to the ground for the umpteenth time that day.

After that last one in particular, he couldn't get up. He just lay there on the ancient mats, unsure whether or not the sweat he smelled was necessarily his own or if some of it came from the mat's numerous users over the years. It was kind of disgusting, though he was so tired that falling asleep right there actually didn't seem too bad of a prospect if you ignored the fact that then his siblings might find him, which would mean certain humiliation.

And that was the very thing he was trying to avoid.

The thought gave him enough energy to push himself up and stand to his feet, even as painful and exhausting as it was. The adrenaline of before was gone now, leaving only the fatigue behind. His hair stuck to his forehead, but when he lifted his hand to wipe it away he could barely hold up his arm. Tears of frustration joined with the sweat, trailing down his cheeks together. But he couldn't wipe them away.

Weakness.

He imagined being proud of something he'd done, remembered the small slice of what it felt like. He looked back to the smile on Tempest's face when he came back with the Pole's magical portals wide open, the way she'd nodded slightly afterwards as if saying _Maybe he's not such a nothing as we all thought._

He hadn't needed weapons, size, speed or strength to bring the smile. All it had been was a little magic, some invisibility and a heck of a lot of luck.

He imagined that smile on her face again, maybe even a few words of praise. Applause from his other siblings, shadows and cowardly Guardians bowing before him. And most of all, he imagined the look on Father's face — pride. Pride _in him, _not in his siblings' work, not in how great they were as a team of warriors, but _in him. _The undersized weakling who could get into the Pole once, and who was going to do it again even if he didn't have strength on his side.

And those thoughts alone were enough to bring Unknown Black to his feet.

**Okay um…I didn't necessarily need to add the last part of this chapter but I literally just got this image of my baby trying to become a big strong boy and it was kind of cute. And it may or may not have something to do with his character motives later on that I didn't really see enough of — NOT Mystic's fault, by the way. She was riding off the seat of her pants and had no idea what I had in mind for the later plot points, so she couldn't really foreshadow anything. Still kinda creepy though because she seemed to hit them all unintentionally, especially in the freaking first chapter. I didn't even let them talk and she nailed their personalities without the slightest idea of what she was doing.**

**I swear sometimes Mystic, you're telepathic or something.**


	7. Attempt (The Second)

*****IMPORTANT*** IF YOU DO NOT MIND ****_SLIGHT _****ROMANCE IN THIS FIC, YOU HAVE PERMISSION TO SKIP THIS VERY LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE.**

**IF YOUR CURIOSITY IS PIQUED AS TO HOW FAR THIS SAID ROMANCE MIGHT GO, OR YOU DO MIND, PLEASE KEEP READING. IGNORE MY REPLIES TO CHIBISSIMA AND MYSTICHAWK BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE ISSUES AND THE DISCUSSION OF THIS QUADRANTAL MESS COMES IN LATER.  
>IF YOU WHINE TO ME LATER ON IN THE STORY SAYING THAT YOU HATE IT, MEANING SAID VARYING LEVELS OF (OFTENTIMES KISMESISTIC) ROMANTIC TENSION IN BORING PLACES TO THE DEPTHS OF WHICH I WILL BE EXPLAINING IN THE FOLLOWING AUTHOR'S NOTE, AND YOU DIDN'T LEAVE NOW, THEN THAT'S YOUR FREAKING FAULT AND YOU CAN STICK THAT BACK DOWN YOUR BULGE-LICKING JABBER-HOLES.<strong>

**…**

**(Less important note: I may have gotten into Homestuck lately.)**

**chibissima: ****_Exactamente, mi amiga. Increíble. Absolutamente increíble.  
><em>****Mystichawk: Ahaha, okay :) it still was my fault that I didn't foreshadow to their *real origins*, because tbh I had ideas of a Nightmare Queen too, but…hey, it just didn't work out that way and we were able to fix it. ^^**

**Painapple (Guest): GUYS HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY THAt even though Revenge of the Ice Prince still exists on this site, ****_I HAVE NEVER VOLUNTARILY MADE CANON CHARACTERXOC A SERIOUS LEGIT THING, AND PROBABLY NEVER WILL. _****For the record the exception, the infamous (and inconceivably bad) ****_RotIP, _****was at the request of my sister and was a self-insert of HER, not me.  
>So in response to your question, am I pairing any of the kids up with the Guardians, I will give a totally separate paragraph because I feel this should be addressed:<strong>

**Let's be honest. I suck at romance and I know it. What I don't suck at is plot twists and sibling hate/love. This ain't freaking Twilight, guys. Most (read: 75-90%) of the ships will be romantically ONE-SIDED, and this is due to hormones and may or may not last (tbh I actually don't think any of them are gonna make it past that plot twist/destruction which I'm calling The Great Undoing, and Homestuckers will have a good idea of what kind of plot twist/destruction I'm hinting at).**

**It's kind of like when you're a freshman on the first day of high school and you suddenly see that supercute junior on your way to Bio for maybe two seconds and fantasize going on a date with him, defeating his evil ex girlfriends, getting married, having kids, growing old and dying together and still always loving him — but then a year passes and you still haven't said a word to him and you're kinda over it and you think your fantasies about him were childish and egocentric? Don't deny it. It happens to all of us, one way or another. And it's happening here.**

**In the case of Jack and Tempest, it is two-sided, hence the outlying 25-10%, but trust me, I've begun to hate them more than you do and the above example may apply.  
>So if you want to leave, go right on ahead. Door's over there. Except that — I can't exactly leave myself, so you'll have to show yourself out. <strong>

XXXXXXXXX

When Danger's Nightmare returned without its rider, Pitch was in the middle of a very long discussion with himself about what to do. He found that talking to himself could be rather therapeutic in times of great stress, even though some of his kids (read: one of his kids — specifically, Death) liked to mock him about it. But hopefully, they were all doing what they were supposed to be doing, which was training, and Pitch could talk to himself in peace.

"There's a thirty percent chance of her succeeding," he murmured as he paced his black room with his hands laced behind his back, deep in thought. "If she does succeed, should I reward her or give her a month in her room?" Moon, being a parent was hard.

Thankfully his decision was made right there and then when a nervous Nightmare clopped in through the doorway.

Pitch turned around when he heard the noise, preparing himself to either yell at Danger for leaving or to commend her for getting her sister back alive, when he recognized it as the mare Danger favored when she bothered riding one of the beasts. Commonly, especially when happy, Danger used her acrobatics to get around and she didn't give a damn if she kicked anyone in the face or stepped on a toe or two as she cartwheeled from room to room. Thankfully, this had only happened once and as a result Pitch had vowed never to give any of the Nightmare Children coffee ever again, _especially _Danger.

That being said, she had presumably decided to take a Nightmare with her to rescue her sister and when Pitch saw the lone mare standing with its head lowered in shame, he assumed the worst. No, he did not assume that the girl had gotten killed. That would be the second worst. He assumed the absolute worst and, in fact, correct — that Danger had gotten herself captured.

Yes, a dead Nightmare Child would be better than a captured one — to him, at least. He was fond of the children, it was true, but despite those blasted memories that kept cropping up, the corrupted, rotten, Fearling-infested heart that was his was a selfish one. He knew the more children he had, the easier it might be if one of them convinced the others — Wrath, say, or even Suffering — that they could take him and bring him down. Children were unpredictable things. Besides, the more of his children the Guardians had a hold of, the easier it would be for them to tell the Guardians lies about his plan. More correctly, the _truth _about his plan…

Pitch sighed for the umpteenth time that day. Yes, that was all very well and good, but did he have a plan after this disaster? A good portion of all of his plans had hinged on the strongest of the Nightmare Children — of which Tempest and Danger were definitely in at least the top four. True, they weren't necessarily _the best, _but the reason they were at the top of the list now was because they were the ones most willing to do what he asked of them: to train. They were the ones who best understood the importance of defeating the Guardians, and so were the ones who knew what was at stake in the years they'd been allowed to get better and, eventually, rise over the others who hadn't found it a priority to whack at things with weapons.

_Why? Why did it have to be Tempest and Danger? _he growled to himself, sinking into his throne with an exhausted sigh. Why two of his most powerful warriors? Tempest, with her ability to lead and her nearly infallible tactics; Danger, with her invincibility to external damage (except for her literal Achilles' heel, a tiny spot at the nape of her neck) and love of risk? Why couldn't it have been, say, Unknown and Judgment or someone? Those two didn't do much! He'd never seen Unknown fight and Judgment was more interested in _diplomacy _than combat anyway. Though, in the latter's case, the Nightmare Children were rather fond of him and his charismatic weirdness so it would have probably still made a difference…

Pitch turned over his several options. He could either leave the girls there at the Pole to be interrogated — this he didn't feel that badly about, because they were snarky enough to survive alone — he could send the children to rescue them, or he could head there himself. Did he have the power to do that though? Did the children? After the battle, they had hit the training room and when he had last looked in on them, all nine of them had been dealing weak blows to wooden dummies and barely raising their weapons as they fought. The only time they actually looked energetic was when they were fighting _with each other,_ which was happening with increasing frequency. They were tired, he could see that, but he knew he couldn't just leave the two girls in the hands of the enemy. Maybe another battle was what the children needed, just to keep them active. Adrenaline could wake kids up.

And so Pitch decided that this time, they were going to go full-throttle to get back his girls. No more hesitation, no more stupid plans that they should have considered long before, just brute force against those ridiculous Guardians. He stood up and crossed the room to the open door, satisfied with this plan. If he sent them all with his strongest Nightmares, they could not fail.

All of them, that is, except for Unknown. He would be staying here, under Pitch's close scrutiny. Maybe then he might be able to see what the boy's powers were, once he was away from the others' jeering. Unknown had an unwavering shyness that Pitch despaired of, almost as much as Danger's ridiculously high level of ADHD, but he allowed him to continue simply because he knew that it was just the boy's way. All of the Nightmare Children had their odd quirks and though they were annoying at times, they proved useful eventually. Yes. As soon as he could see deeper into Unknown, learned what drove him and gained his complete trust, he was sure that he would find windows of opportunities in the boy.

Because like all evil lords with plans for revenge and world domination had to be, Pitch Black was an optimist.

He made the announcement of the upcoming attack as soon as he could, to the Nightmare Children's excitement. They instantly sprang up to ready their armor and weapons, but before they could even draw blades Pitch told them that it would take a week to muster his strongest Nightmares. They all sat back down again in disgust, muttering irritably.

"Great. More waiting!" Wrath spat, offhandedly chucking a throwing ax at the wall and lodging it in the center of a perfect circle of other axes.

"I know," Pitch said, trying to take on the voice of a general to his soldiers. Surprisingly, he slipped into the role quite well. "But it will only be a little while. You are all tired from your first battle and need time to recuperate. In one week, you will all ride out to rescue your sisters." He cast a look at Unknown, who was lurking tentatively in the shadows and had raised his head at his father's words, then lowered it almost immediately when he caught his gaze.

"All of you," Pitch amended, "except Unknown and Suffering."

This was met with outbursts of rage, primarily from Wrath — surprised? — and an angry glare from Pain, Suffering's least-biggest fan. Pitch quieted them down with a wave of his hand. In truth, he didn't know why he should take pity on the tiny girl more than any of the others. He glanced at Suffering, who shrunk even smaller under his gaze.

Suffering was a sucker for wounds and physical pain, but she was also good at exaggerating it and convincing people that she was really, really hurting. A master warrior and an even more gifted actress, she was even able to deceive one of the greatest liars on the planet — Pitch Black. She took great pride in this and even greater pride in the fact that her father had no idea, but she had her reasons.

The rotund little dreammaker she had been dueling against was a surprisingly fierce adversary and during the fight Suffering actually wasn't sure if she'd make it. Then the rain of ice from Jack's staff had hit both her and her opponent, but she'd gotten it worse than anyone. The ice had ripped into her flesh and the blast had sent her flying backwards and twenty feet down to the ground, giving her a slight concussion and quite a few bruises in unfortunate places.

On the ride back to the lair, she had decided that she wasn't really one for battle. And she knew instantly that now that Tempest was in the hands of the enemy, there would be more battles. So she had taken desperate measures. One of her cuts was down her left arm and particularly deep, so when no one was looking, she braced herself against the pain and squeezed it so that more blood came out. Then she took a few globs and spread them all over her right hand even massaging it into her scalp to mimic a head wound. She felt no need to actually tear up her fighting hand, because who knew when it would really, really be necessary?

When they had gotten back to the lair, it was obvious that she was the most wounded of all of them, and it appeared that the hand she usually used to hold her whip, her right hand, had been badly cut and the mild concussion somehow blossomed to a severe one, judging by the way she was acting as she staggered about and spouted drowsy, incoherent things. (Emphasis on "acting".) So Pitch decided that Suffering was not fit for battle just yet, hence letting her stay home. No one saw the wicked smile on the girl's pockmarked face as she limped towards her room with her hand, arm, and head all bandaged up.

But little did she know that she was Pitch's last resort, his final secret weapon, if this attempt to rescue Tempest and Danger failed. It never hurt to have backup, after all.

XXXXXXXXX

After half a week of preparing and waiting, Pitch deemed the eight able-bodied Nightmare Children to be ready for another attack. He couldn't wait any longer. They had to act now!

Along with his powers, they had also been gifted with the abnormally quick healing of immortals (albeit a bit slower — the magic wasn't _that _strong) so they had all been restored to their former condition from before the first fight. All, strangely, except Suffering. Most of her smaller cuts had closed up within the first three days, but she continued to walk drunkenly and moan about how much her head hurt, and she kept complaining that she couldn't hold her whip in her cut hand — which she suspiciously kept bandaged and hidden — so he decided to keep her at the lair after all.

After two days, Pitch had summoned enough sand and fear to equip the eight Nightmare Children with eighty Nightmares. He had numbered the Nightmares specifically so that each child would have exactly ten to control and he figured that wasn't too much for his specially and vigorously trained super soldiers — ahem, _children,_ right? With this many Nightmares and his warrior-children, the Guardians didn't stand a chance.

…right?

_Wrong_.

Pitch really should've seen it. He should've _known_ something was up on the day of the battle when he saw the teenagers clambering onto their Nightmares with a sluggishness that was completely unlike them. In the first battle, they had been almost frothing at the mouth to fight. Now, they almost looked bored.

Pitch frowned and opened his mouth to call them down as they took to the air, but they were gone before he could and as he walked back into the lair to speak to Unknown, he attributed it to his waking them up early in the night. Yes. That had to be it. A few hours of riding through cold winds would wake them up.

He rubbed his hands in glee and let out a small chuckle. Those miserable Guardians would be _crushed._

He sat back in his throne and relaxed his tense muscles, once again feeling rather pleased in himself.

XXXXXXXXX

…Once again, wrong.

Unfortunately for Pitch, these eight super warriors were also _teenagers _and unknown to Pitch, these teenage super warriors weren't just suffering from the abrupt wakeup call. In fact, they had just gotten off major sugar highs and still a bit fuzzy from staying up late and partying the day before. The reason for the sugar highs would be surprising to any of them if they knew and certainly surprising to Pitch, but they didn't know so they were not surprised. But if they had, they probably would've throttled their brother.

Remember, Unknown had been present when Pitch had announced to the other Nightmare Children the news of the upcoming battle. Inconspicuous, but present nevertheless. And he'd felt an emotion that he had never felt before — the desire for revenge. Making the decision quickly before the cowering side of him could wake up and tell him that it was a stupid idea, he did something he had never even considered doing before.

It had taken him one day — eight hours, a ton of luck, a few stolen clothing articles from his sibs, and a gallon of apple cider to seal the deal. An hour after all of the others had fallen asleep and Pitch had retired to his bedchambers to do darkness knew what, Unknown slipped invisibly out of the kids' wing of the lair and out into the "stables", where his Nightmare — a scrawny little thing named Mirage that jumped at every moving shadow — was waiting. It had taken quite a few promises of apple cider to keep her quiet, but it was worth it. If Mirage betrayed him to Pitch (which he was pretty sure she wouldn't have done anyway because she liked her rider better than her creator) then he'd be in more trouble than Tempest and Danger were probably in now.

But Mirage complied. Satisfied by the promise of cider, she took him through the shadowy woods into the downtown, where the shadows were longest in the early morning light. She stopped, at his order, behind the Burgess Wal-Mart.

Unknown was wearing shoes and an old puffy winter coat stolen from Tempest's closet (okay, it _was _technically a girl's coat even though you really couldn't tell, but his regular coat, the special one that he'd worn to the Pole, still had paintball paint all over it) so he could blend in with the humans. He would have really liked to dye his hair something other than stark white, but even if he kept his hood up, bright blond hair wasn't something you could really hide from pissed-off siblings who would jump at whatever chance they had to get you in trouble. No, he'd rather be albino outside than suddenly blond inside.

He could feel his empty stomach tying itself into a knot as he shoved the black cap over his hair in a poor attempt to hide it. He kind of couldn't believe he was doing this, but alas, here he was. He was getting revenge. Sabotaging the plan so he could take over and save the day.

Unknown Black was becoming the villain.

A small, hesitant smile twitched at his lips as he thought of how proud Father would be, and with that the knot untied itself and loosened his feet.

Unknown stepped out into the open air, shoved his hands into his pockets, and started walking towards the Wal-Mart.

XXXXXXXXX

"Good morning, how are you today?"

The standard line. Said for the thousandth time in a bored tone that the cashier didn't bother to make brighter.

"Just fine, thank you."

The voice had a slight accent of something, maybe British. He couldn't remember.

"Find everything okay?"

Not that the cashier was prepared to leave his station and help the customers if they didn't. You weren't even allowed to do that.

"I guess."

The voice was young and high, almost like a girl's, though not quite. Did he care? Not really.

The cashier usually didn't even really bother looking up and smiling at the customer anymore. The same kind of people passed through here every day, none of them anything special to the jaded twenty-nine-year-old's preoccupied eyes. Chubby soccer moms with their hyperactive kids, buying standard housekeeping stuff. Middle-aged women wearing too much makeup, with more makeup in their carts alongside bags of goodies they'd rather not admit they're actually eating. Guys of all ages who forgot to do something for the wife, girlfriend, etc., usually purchasing a cheap present that only _looked _expensive.

The cashier wasn't fazed by much, though when he scanned six twelve-packs of Mountain Dew in a row, a jug of apple cider and a package of Hershey's chocolate, he may have become a little bit curious and glanced up.

The cider had given him a small clue (which was wrong by the way). There was a girl with purple hair who came around here sometimes and bought cider, and whenever she saw him working the register she checked out with him. Though her cider was usually cherry instead, apple was pretty much the same thing. They were both red, he guessed. But point was, he didn't quite know about the purple-haired girl. She constantly looked like she was either about to start screaming excitedly about something or fall asleep right there on the floor. What she'd do with a whole gallon jug of cider, chocolate and seventy-two cans of MD, the cashier was afraid to think about.

But it wasn't the girl, thankfully. Instead, it was a boy — maybe twelve, thirteen years old.

It was actually hard to tell his age, because when the cashier met the kid's eyes his stomach, for whatever reason, felt like it had a rock in it. And not even a small rock, either. Like, we're talking boulders here. There was something just…not _right _about this kid, and the cashier couldn't tell what it was for the life of him. And it terrified him.

The kid glanced slightly down, and then back up at the cashier. He realized that the kid had put cash down on the little countertop between them, and muttered an awkward "Oh, sorry" before grabbing it and counting the money. For some reason, just looking at the kid didn't feel right. He was pretty normal feature-wise for a kid his age, maybe more on the skinny side that gave the cashier a bad feeling that he didn't get always get to eat full meals three times a day, and dressed for the weather, maybe, but for some reason the cashier felt like there was something _missing _about this kid's face.

Halfway through counting, the cashier had this awkward "WAIT A SECOND" moment where he realized he'd never told the customer how much it cost. He'd been so tipped out of focus that he'd lost the lines he spoke a thousand times a day. "Uh…"

"It's exact change," said the boy. His speech was clipped in a way that did, now that the cashier was listening, sound distinctly British, yet at the same time a little off. Kind of like one of his exes, that one Japanese girl who was going to Oxford and dumped him when she found out that he still lived in his parents' basement. Yeah…the kid sounded British-Asian. But that didn't really make sense because this kid had light hair.

Light…

"Exact change?" He continued counting. Sure enough, it was the right amount — tax included — even though he'd never told the kid the cost. This had actually happened before, with a bunch of homeschool moms who liked to challenge their children to do the math themselves even though the amount would still be paid in credit. Every time the cashier saw those particular families, the kids had notepads and pencils in their hands as they furiously scribbled down the numbers and decimal points. Maybe this kid did that too even when his parents weren't here. Homeschoolers were weird, the cashier (who had dropped out of high school during his junior year) reflected moodily.

"Umm…okay," he said, coughing. "Did you want the receipt?"

"No thank you." The kid made his way towards the spinny-thing you put the groceries on and took one of the Mountain Dew cartons in both arms, struggling to put it back into the shopping cart. The cashier kind of wanted to help him, but he couldn't due to the next lady who had already packed two carts' worth of groceries onto the one moving thingy.

"Good morning, how are you today…"

Oh dear. Another one of these. This woman actually started telling him her life story, up until now when she was complaining about a lazy husband who hadn't gone out to buy and pack the things they needed for their week-long trip to Vegas or something and now their plane was leaving in like four hours and that was why she was at the store at eight a.m. and could you _please _hurry up and get that little brat out of here; he's clogging up the bagging carousel and I'm going to miss my plane and blah blah blah…

The cashier offered up an automatic "I'm sorry ma'am but each customer deserves his own time and if you would really like to help things along, you could at least assist him with his items and then he'll leave" and continued checking out items. He glanced briefly over towards the kid, who was slowly, steadily hauling the Mountain Dews into his cart. He was almost done, fortunately for the cashier because the vacationing lady looked like she was about to blow a gasket.

It was when the cashier started passing the brightly-colored plastic travel bottles that he began to figure it out. At first though, he didn't really even know what it was. It came to him like an itch — first just an annoyance, capable of being passed off as nothing. But as he kept ignoring it, it kept nagging into the back of his mind until he just couldn't bear to resist scratching it.

Skin like ash. Not just pale, but grey. Mirror eyes. _Silver, _in fact. And light feathers of hair that weren't just light — but stark white. And even everything he wore — grey, black. And only now he knew what was wrong with the kid.

He was completely devoid of color.

XXXXXXXXX

When Unknown got back to the lair, his siblings were thankfully still asleep. So he put the Dew where it belonged, sealed the deal with Mirage (the Nightmare couldn't eat apples as she had no solid teeth so she had to do with simply dunking her snakelike tongue into a bowl of apple cider and absorbing it into her sand, which Unknown let her do), returned Tempest's coat to her closet, dropped Loss's hat on the couch for no reason other than to annoy her, changed into his pyjamas and slipped into bed as if nothing had happened.

He slept until dinnertime and woke up just in time to see his plan take effect.

XXXXXXXXX

Dark was the first to find it. Thankfully, because if the wrong person had found it then they might have secretly hidden it away for themselves instead of yelling loudly, "SUGAR!" which Dark was prone to doing.

It was kind of amazing that they hadn't found it sooner because now that they were older, the Nightmare Children made their own meals, but Unknown had thought this through and realized that no one really opened the refrigerator until they had to prepare for dinner. For breakfast and supper they turned to the pantry. Therefore, whoever's turn it was to make dinner tonight would most likely be the first to find the Dews.

Since Dark made excellent grilled chicken sandwiches, he was the first to find it.

It was kind of comical, watching every Nightmare Child make a beeline towards the refrigerator and shove Dark out of the way. It was even funnier watching them come to their senses, resolve to ration it and only drink a can each tonight, then lose resolve completely and start fighting over it. Then they just made it a "whoever drinks them faster gets more" kind of deal, and began to gulp.

In their caffeine-drunkenness, none of them saw Unknown watching them from the shadows with a suspicious smile on his face.

First step, train as a hero. Second step, squish the competition.

No one knew that he had done it and for whatever reason no one thought twice about finding half a dozen cases of Mountain Dew in the fridge of the Boogeyman — who had only allowed them to consume water and regular food, except for the once-a-year parties that made up for birthdays and those horrifying episodes when Danger and Loss had stolen mochas from a Starbucks — and at the time, no one had known that they were to be attacking the next night. When they next woke up, they all had headaches and wanted to sleep them off, but their father had yanked them up out of their beds by the ankles with threads of nightmare sand and ordered them off to battle before they could protest.

When they had reached the North Pole, Pain was practically screaming a random song about goblins and Wrath, as much as he'd always liked this particular sister of his, was trying hard not to throttle her. Judgment was audibly contemplating whether the chicken or the egg came first. Solitude kept repeating "omelettes, omelettes" mostly just to annoy Judgment. Which hence caused Shame to continually yell at him to please shut up because she'd spent the short breakfast time doing her makeup and the mention of omelettes was not helping her hunger.

The fight had been, well, not much of a fight. Contrary to common belief, Sandy actually found it easier to put hyperactive children to sleep rather than the ones who were actually tired. Only a bit easier, but easier nonetheless. He could put more power into the punches without worrying about knocking them out too far, thus making them fall asleep faster and deeper.

I will spare you the details, because there aren't many. There was a lot of dodging, running, swinging of various weapons into walls for some reason, and, concerning Pain, singing about goblins, but that was pretty much it and the result was as to be expected: eight unconscious Nightmare Children, eighty Nightmares-turned-piles of golden dreamsand, four conked-out Guardians, three snoozing Mini Fairies, several dozen snoring Yetis, countless sleeping elves, and one very satisfied Sandman.

Moral of the story: never send eight sugar-hyped and sleep-deprived teens to rescue their two captive sisters from the hands of five thoroughly pissed-off immortals.

Sighing, the frazzled and slightly drained dreammaker shook his teammates awake. Or, at least, tried to. Every time he touched them they went farther into dreamland and after a while he gave up that approach. His sand was leaking out of him in the most literal sense. He could actually feel grains of sand drizzling from cracks in his skin and he took five minutes to re-harden his skin before trying to wake his teammates again.

Sandy, as we all know, used to be a star before he became a Guardian. No, not a star as in a celebrity; that came much later. In his former life, Sanderson Mansnoozie had been an adventurous star with dreams of traveling through the galaxy. In those days, stars had had immense powers and when he had been transformed into a Guardian, his powers had tripled. He became the Sandman. At first, he hadn't been able to control the element and his physical form had resembled a squat pile of golden salt.

When he had been a star, he hadn't _had _a real physical form and as a result, he was unfamiliar with how one would work. It had taken him several decades to form a human body and face and when he finally had, he had discovered that cracks would form in his skin, leaking dreamsand. This happened more and more often as he began to use his powers and over the years he had learned to toughen his skin to prevent this from happening. And it almost never did, only when he expelled a lot of energy. That battle with the girl with the curtained face — who, for some odd reason, he hadn't seen ever since — had really taken a lot out of him and he hadn't noticed he was leaking until now. He was kind of glad that all witnesses were asleep; leaking sand was pretty much on the same level of embarrassment as an open fly or an escaped booger.

When he had finished sealing all the cracks in his skin, Sandy returned to the problem at hand. He knew Jack was the lightest sleeper of the four, but he was out cold. Literally, as it were. A little icicle hung off his nose, and Wrath, whom Jack had landed on top of when they all went lights out, was coated with a thick layer of frost. The eighteen-year-old's hair, which was styled uncannily like Pitch's, was stiff with Jack's ice. Wrath wouldn't be too happy about that when he woke up, nor would he be particularly happy with the completely coincidental (though extremely suggestive) position he and Jack were in. Above their heads, a scene of little golden teenagers kicking down golden snowmen played out. The snowmen were coming to life and chasing some of the teens. It was hilarious, but Sandy didn't have the time to watch.

He did his work and smiled when Jack murmured automatically, "Just five more minutes, North…" Those were the magic words to the Sandman, so he allowed Jack to keep sleeping.

Now, who was the next lightest sleeper? He would think Tooth, her being part bird and all, so he tried waking her the same way he had tried to wake Jack: by dragging an unconscious elf over to her, putting the elf's bell by her ear (yes, she had ears; they were just super small and concealed under her feathers), and shaking it.

He was nearly thrown backwards when Tooth shot awake and spiraled into the air. " — Bicuspid at 56 Rowan — !" she yelped blearily. When she regained full control over her drowsy mental facilities she said, "Wait, where am I? Oh, hi Sandy. What…happened here?"

Sandy explained to her patiently through his sand signs and then told her his dilemma. She sighed, landed lightly on the ground next to North, and gently nudged the big man's head with her foot. "I got this. North. North, wake up."

North just kept sawing logs. His dream, candy canes, obviously, mixed with Pain's, and the two wakeful Guardians were left looking at a trio of warty golden goblins doing the can-can with candy canes. Sandy sniggered silently and Tooth giggled. "As amusing as this is," she said, "we have to wake him up somehow. Desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess." The fairy knelt by North's ear and whispered, "North…the elves have eaten all your cookies…"

_"Chto proiskhodit?!"_ burst North, sitting bolt upright unexpectedly and making Tooth leap back to avoid being head butted. _"Vdali ot pechen'ye!_" (Translation from Russian to English: What is happening?! Away from cookies!) Then, after a moment of confusion, his eyes cleared of that dark, flaming fury and he said in a calmer voice, "Oh, Tooth. Is you. Sorry."

Tooth smiled and said it was all right, then they got to work waking up Bunny and Jack. When the Guardian of Hope was awake, he told them about the really weird dream he had had about North measuring carrots against eggs on a scale — most likely Judgment's unconscious doing. Jack's awakening was rather different. First he tried to jump straight up from lying down, tripped over Wrath, fell flat on his face, and, as if that wasn't enough, slipped on his own ice three times before getting to his feet.

"Sandy," North admonished, "was that really necessary?"

Sandy gave him a look that said quite clearly, _Not really, but it was funny._

Jack sighed. He could appreciate a good joke. "All right, I'll admit it. That was pretty good, Sandy."

Sandy grinned widely.

"Okay," said Bunny, trying to get them back on track, "what do we do with them all?"

North shrugged. "Same as other two."

The rest of the Guardians nodded uneasily and soon they were fitting collars around the Nightmare Children's necks and carting them down to Cell One.

XXXXXXXXX

"Got any nines?" asked Tempest.

Phil sighed and handed her his three nines through the bars. She pumped her fist and set her four cards on the ground. (As we know from Jack, Yetis are quite forgiving. Even to someone who stuck them with an arrow.)

"I go again," said Tempest. "Arghbal, got any threes?"

Arghbal shook his head. "Rurgh lur." _Go fish._

Tempest took a card from the draw pile, which was outside of the barred door but easy enough to reach.

"My turn," said Danger. "Got any…what in darkness?"

The last three words were uttered when the five Guardians came in with the eight still-unconscious Nightmare Children. North was carrying Solitude over one shoulder and Dark over the other, Bunny was carrying Judgment, Jack was carrying Loss, Tooth had Death in her arms bridal-style while not looking very happy about it, and several Yetis were carrying the rest. (Wrath's face still hadn't unfrozen from the force of a sleeping Jack landing on top of him.)

"I second that question," said Bunny slowly, looking at the strange scene.

"Are you guys playing…Go Fish?" asked Jack skeptically, one dark eyebrow raised.

Danger shrugged. "Well, _yeah,_" she replied. The Guardians gave her weird looks and she replied with her signature pouty lip. "Why not?"

_"__I _wanted to play Trash, but that doesn't work very well through prison bars," put in Tempest. Then she glanced at the kids who were obviously her siblings and stood, folding her arms and giving the boy slung over North's shoulder a cold look. "So, what's Dad done _now?"_

Before North could answer — and it was a very good thing that he was interrupted because he had no idea what he was going to say — the long-haired boy whom North had slung over his shoulder woke up. "…whuzzah…?" he spluttered, raising his head and trying to take in his new surroundings like he had been trained, but the combined aftereffects of the caffeine and dreamsand weren't helping. "Hey! Let me go!" He started to flail and kick, which was no use seeing as North was at least twice his size and the smaller male had little to no real muscles. Though Solitude was pretty good with the light spear he carried, playing video games and watching TV all day did little to nothing for one's battle prowess.

"Sol!" Tempest barked. "Knock it off! It's no use."

"Tempest! Danger!" yelped Solitude. "Thank darkness, you're alive! We'll get out of this, I promise!"

"We can _hear_ you," said North, somewhat annoyed.

"Shut up, fatso!" snapped Solitude. Now, this was a horribly wrong move. North did not like being called fat. Sure, when the kids and their parents called him a "jolly fat man" or whatever, it was fine, but when this…this son of Pitch said it North felt his blood boil. Even if he was adopted, it was absolutely unacceptable.

Solitude knew that he was in hot water when North swiftly set him down against the wall and advanced with a fire in his usually calm blue eyes. "_What_ did you just call me, boy?"

"Oh dear," breathed Tempest, holding her head in her hands.

"North!" hissed Tooth. "That is _enough!"_

Reluctantly, North retreated. The other seven Nightmare Children had all awoken during the short scene and were watching with wide eyes. (Except for Wrath — his face was, though almost unfrozen, still a bit numb and he was not yet completely in control of his facial expressions.) Tooth handed Death's limp body to a Yeti, fluttered up to Solitude and kept a gentle hand on his shoulder as he and the other children were escorted into Cell One. The cell was barely large enough to hold ten kids, and when the barred door was slammed and locked shut, some of the teens started to panic. It was very strange. One second they were silent and defiant, the next they were freaking out like it was the end of the world.

It started with Pain. She was a tall, beautiful young woman, with a cunning smile, soft hair, perfect curves, and striking scarlet eyes. But when that door slammed shut, those eyes bulged to the size of apples and she screamed, "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"

(A little known fact about Pain: since she couldn't feel physical pain, she was mostly tormented by the mental. She had a deep fear of restriction — like being put in a cell with nine of her adoptive siblings.)

Then Dark had the folly to roll his eyes (which for once were unprotected by his signature sunglasses) and look up at the fluorescent light, which caused him to go ten shades paler, squeak "So much LIGHT!" and fall to the ground in yet another dead faint.

Pain started babbling hysterically, making senseless threats, and/or yammering on and on about nothing that made sense.

Loss pulled her little rag doll out from somewhere inside her skin-tight black leather jumpsuit, waved it in people's faces randomly, and laughed when they recoiled.

Judgment started reciting his favorite episode of _Law and Order, _which he had memorized all the way through.

Death glared at Loss when she tried to steal his silver skull ring, which caused the girl's heart to literally stop for a second. (Just for a second — but it was frightening enough.)

Tempest experimentally clicked her heels together and muttered "There's no place like home" three times, then when it didn't work resigned herself to curling up into the fetal position.

Wrath looked at his hand, made sure he wasn't wearing his gauntlet or brass knuckles, and then facepalmed.

Danger mouthed to the Guardians, _"Help me"._

Solitude started looking for the corner in the round room, and upon finding none, went to the back, sat down with his back to everyone, tucked his head in, stuck his thumb into his mouth, and began to sob.

Shame burst into laughter at everyone else.

"Ha ha, you can't fool me, Death Breath!" shouted Pain when Death tried to get the eighteen-year-old to settle down. Insanity burned bright in her naturally red eyes, which was scary even to Death. "I'm Pain, the Queen of Agony! I AM INVINCIBLE, thanks to the awesome power of the Mountain Dew! You may have broken Tempy and Dare Devil, but you will not break ME! HAHAHA!"

"Is there something wrong with her?" asked Jack, referring to Pain of course.

Tempest nodded. "She's a bit claustrophobic. And she gets hyper really easily. And — WAIT JUST ONE BLOODY SECOND, I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!" This was, of course, directed towards Pain, who was now the victim of a famous Nightmare Child death glare.

Pain froze and averted her eyes. "Sorry…"

Tempest nodded. "I thought so."

Then they all went back to their respective jobs, namely crying, thumb-sucking, laughing, reciting, pouting, and/or staring.

"And, since she's immune to physical pain," continued Wrath, who had ceased in his facepalming and advanced to headwalling as if the interruption had never occurred, "she's gotta have some kind of weakness."

"HEY! Don't you be telling all and sundry my fatal flaw!" screamed Pain, waving around her balled fists like a toddler. "Sure! Go announce it over the New York Jumbotron next! Now they're going to try to torture me for information by putting me in a closet or something! I WILL TELL YOU WEIRDOS NOTHING!"

Death rolled his eyes. He'd just about had it. A little screaming was okay in his opinion — after all, people screamed a lot during and/or before death — but this was _way _out of control. He grabbed Pain by the shoulders, spun her around to face him, and slapped her across the face. Hard. She shut up instantly.

"So slapping _does _cure hysteria," he remarked, pushing her away and wiping his hands off on his black trench coat as if he'd just touched something nasty. "Interesting."

"Look, we're not going to torture you!" Tooth finally interrupted, fluttering over to the bars and gazing upon the freaked-out teens in the same way that a frazzled preschool teacher might gaze upon her beloved group of hyperactive students.

This came as a surprise to not only Pain but all of the Nightmare Children. Tempest and Wrath stopped headwalling in sync. Solitude actually turned around. Dark didn't move (he would be out for quite a while and would later be filled in on by his siblings as to what had happened) but the rest of them froze and stared at the bird-woman.

"You're…not going to torture us?" repeated Wrath, slightly confused.

"Absolutely not!" cried Tooth, horrified at the very idea.

"Why would _we_ torture _you _for information that we don't need?" asked Bunny cynically.

"And you're — you're just _kids!" _Tooth held her head in her hands. She couldn't say she was often overwhelmed but this — it was too much. Maybe it was different in battle — yes, she struck first, but she'd just been so angry and, for the most part after that, had been acting in self defense — but she couldn't imagine ever hurting or killing a child in cold blood. And, as much as she wanted to deny it, these were actual, live children. Okay, okay…a few of the older ones might be legal adults by this point but _still._

"But if you're not going to torture us…" Solitude frowned, as if mulling the question over in his head, "then why are we here?"

"You're here," explained Bunny irritably, trying to keep himself calm. Pain's shrieking had done some _serious _damage to his eardrums. "You're here because you decided to attack us for no apparent reason and killed — " The Pooka stopped when he realized where he was going with it and cast apologetic glances to Tooth and North. "Uh, sorry, mates."

Tooth just nodded and North sniffled. "Is all right, Bunny."

"Look," said Tempest, leaning against the bars of her cell, "you might think you've broken me and Danger just because we're not cussing you guys out anymore, but you haven't." She paused, glanced back at her siblings, then at the Guardians. "But I'll tell you the truth anyway."

This made her siblings break out in protest and more yelling ensued, but they were silenced instantly when Tempest opened her mouth and yelled, "SHUT IT!" The collar around her neck should have prevented her from using her powers, but no one even considered that the thunder rolling far above the Pole could have simply been a coincidence.

So her siblings did the wise thing and shut it. Tempest closed her eyes and breathed in the meditative way Pitch had taught her to do when her _idiotic siblings _were acting like children, and when she opened her eyes again they were relatively calm, though still fiery. "It's not like we have a better option," she told her siblings. "Honestly, I think that it doesn't matter."

"It _does _matter!" spat Wrath. "THEY are the _enemy! _Father said that ANY information we give them could be used as a weapon!"

"Wrath, wouldja just _chillax already?" _Danger snapped. "They already know, like, everything about us."

"Oh?" Wrath hissed, rounding on his little sister. "And who told them that, _Dare Devil?"_

"Bite me, _Wraith," _Danger replied with a smirk. Oh, how much he hated it when she called him that, and oh how she knew it. "They know because we were stupid in that fight and let loose a bunch of witty banter that gave them as much information as an autobiography! In fact, I remember you chatting up Old Saint Nick over there like you were old — "

The right hook came from out of nowhere. Danger was on the ground before she knew what was happening and getting pummeled by her older brother. It had little to no effect on her and she threw him off, giving him a none-too-gentle kick in the jewels for good measure. "And that, big brother, is why you do not mess with me!" she sang happily as Wrath's voice hit the high C and everyone else, especially the male spectators, flinched. A couple of the girls couldn't help but snicker.

"Dude," Wrath squeaked, reaching for the closest Nightmare Child and scrabbling at the hem of his robe, "dur…ugh…elp…"

Judgment raised one eyebrow, glancing at the curled up and sobbing Wrath, then at the grinning Danger. "You want help?"

Wrath managed to nod weakly. "She…killed my kids…"

(To which most of the girls and some of the less sympathetic boys broke out into uncontrollable giggles.)

Danger just sniffed. "Wimp."

"Then I shall do what I can," said Judgment, brushing off his robe. He cleared his throat. "Further violence is unnecessary, because it is clear who is in the wrong here."

"He is!" Danger yelled, pointing at Wrath at the same time Wrath glared at her and managed to choke, "She is!"

"Clearly," Judgment continued as if, again, he heard nothing, "Wrath is guilty for assaulting a woman."

"HA!" Danger barked.

That was when Death stepped between Wrath and Danger, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "We have no proof that our dear brother has assaulted a woman," he deadpanned, turning to his sister.

"Moron." She blew a raspberry. "They all saw him hit me."

"I spoke not of the assault but of your true status as a woman."

Half the observers' mouths were hanging open. The other half was going "OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH". Danger looked like she was about to blow a fuse.

"Dare Devil — " Tempest said between suppressed laughs, using the choice nickname for the wild girl. Okay, maybe she was being a bit of a hypocrite, but any chance to tick off her siblings was a good one.

"IT'S DANGER, DAMN YOU ALL! DANGER!" the girl in question hollered, flinging herself at her sister and grabbing hold of her ponytail. Tempest shrieked when Danger yanked at the choppy locks and brought her fist up. Tempest managed to jerk herself away and Danger's fist connected with her shoulder, which had little to no effect.

"Oh! Oh! We've got two girls in a prison brawl!" Solitude shouted, coming out of his usual thumb-sucking stupor. "I don't know whether to break it up or break out the video camera!"

_"__Solitude!" _moaned Pain as the other two girls instantly paused their brawl in order to momentarily solve their differences in order to eliminate their common enemy. "You really are an idiot…"

"Greatest idiot of them all," remarked Shame happily. If anyone, _she _was enjoying this.

Tempest and Danger were now literally on top of the poor Solitude. "AGH! Pesty, Danger, get off me!" he yelped, kicking out uselessly at Tempest and swiping at Danger's face before she pinned his arms.

"That's it, bro, you've officially been watching too much reality TV," said Tempest with an evil grin as she seated herself on Solitude's somewhat soft stomach and began to tickle him. "And you have crossed a line by calling me Pesty."

The Guardians watched, astounded, as the teens who had freaked out the second they were put in a ten-foot cell started laughing at their brother's misfortune. Despite her fiery temper as befit her name and her badass training, Tempest was acting like a complete kid as she used her best tickle fingers on the poor stupid Solitude. Danger was sitting on his arms, then the Nightmare Children let out cries of "AGH!" and "Dear darkness, _Danger!" _to which Danger replied "What?" innocently. As if she hadn't just let rip a massive and completely silent death-bomb, just to bug her sibs.

Tempest recovered her wits quickly, and Solitude regained full consciousness when she yanked up his shirt and started tickling again. "ACK! Please Pesty — Tempest, please!" Solitude begged between uncontrollable laughs as his sister moved her hands up and down his ribs. "Let — me — go!"

"Nope," said Tempest crisply. "I don't think you've learned your lesson yet. Danger," she ordered, exchanging a glance and a silent message with her sister. The smaller girl nodded and jammed two of her fingers up her brother's nose. "Let's see the result of oxygen deprivation coupled with laughing." The evil grin was as evil as it could get as Tempest began tickling her brother with all her might.

The result was Solitude nearly passing out after twenty seconds. When he was panting and gasping like a drowning man, Tempest decided to show a bit of mercy. She gave the silent command and both girls let their brother up.

The Guardians didn't know what to think. "That…" Jack murmured fuzzily.

"Yeah," Bunny agreed.

"All kinds of creepy," Tooth said.

"Hey, we're allowed to be kids if we want to!" Danger protested.

"Danger, honey," Tempest said kindly, turning to her smaller sister and putting her arm around her shoulders, "you've never matured past _seven, _you know that, don't you?"

"Oh, bug off," Danger grumbled, ducking out from under her sister's arm and sticking her tongue out.

Suddenly Tempest replied in kind, sticking her equally long and red tongue out. The other Nightmare Children gasped. Tempest…she did not just…their serious, warlike assassin of a sister just stuck her tongue out! Never before had she resorted to such an immature, childlike gesture of retaliation!

"What?" Tempest and the five Guardians asked at the same time. Sandy asked the question with a simple _? _over his head.

Her siblings were giving her a weird, confused look, so Tempest edged slightly away from them. "What?" she asked again, returning the weird, confused look.

"Um, Mr. Claus, we _are_ getting our full supply of oxygen down here, am I correct?" Judgment asked respectfully.

North furrowed his brow, just as confused as Tempest. "Um, yes. At least, that I know of."

Judgment nodded and exhaled in relief. "Okay. It's probably just Danger rubbing off on you after being in such close proximity to you for so long, Temp. You're good."

Jack had to stuff his fist in his mouth to stop himself from saying, _Yes, she is._

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" groaned Tempest irritably, flopping down on the floor and crossing her legs. "I'm no more _good _than the rest of you."

Silence stretched in the cell block for a long while, then North coughed. "Ahem. You were going to tell us why you were here?"

"Oh yeah, right," Tempest laughed. "Guess we got a bit off track."

Wrath scowled, but no one paid any attention to him.

"Well, we've been training for this literally our entire lives," the denim-clad girl began.

"Right," sniffed Jack sarcastically. North hushed him. Seriously, the first sentence and he's already got something to sniff sarcastically at.

"Tempest isn't lying," said Loss. All the Guardians jumped at hearing her voice. She had been mostly silent until now, curled up in the corner, and trying to recover from the heart-stopping terror caused by Death's death glare. "We seriously didn't have a choice. We've been just…living under Pitch's care and training for as long as we can remember."

"And how long is that?" inquired Tooth, genuine curiosity lacing her voice.

"Ten years?" she replied with a shrug. She picked up a small rock from the floor and started idly sharpening it on the head of her doll. The Nightmare Children around her slowly slid away, but she seemed not to notice.

"And one week," put in Pain. Her voice was actually quite nice when she wasn't shrieking or tormenting people's minds.

"So you don't remember anything from before you were…eight?" Jack asked, still a bit skeptic.

"Five for me," put in Tempest. "We're all different ages."

"Wait, wait, wait," Bunny cut in. "So…wait, if you really _did _have _one _mom who gave birth to all you, how the heck did she_ do_ that?"

Shame cleared her throat and held up her index finger. Then she recited, like she'd worked hard at memorizing it, "One set of twins, born January 13. Next year, quadruplets on April 13. Triplets the next year on July 11. The next year, twins on September 3. And one single kid the next year, on October 17." She gave a grin at her memorization skills and then shrugged. "Not too hard."

"Not for you, maybe," Jack snickered. "But for the mom? No wonder you're called the Nightmare Children."

Several of said teens yelled "SHUT IT, FROST" and wisely, he obeyed.

Tooth realized only then that she was biting her nails and resolved to stop. Twins, quadruplets, triplets, twins, and one…it was really, really far-fetched, but not impossible. Still, wow. She couldn't deny that Pitch would be on that poor woman that soon (Pitch was…well, _Pitch, _anyway) but the fact that she'd stayed with him and let him? Yikes. Though if the story was true, she'd rest much happier if the "mother" — if there was one — had a say in the matter. "So, Pitch told you that?"

"Well, yeah," said Tempest in the "duh" voice that all teenagers seemed to be famous for. " We just woke up one day, and Father — Pitch gave us names, told us he was our dad, and answered any questions we had. He said later…" She inhaled shakily and stared at her feet. "When we were old enough, he explained that our mother was dead, and that when she had died we had been so guilt stricken that our own powers consumed us. He managed to save us, but our memories had been lost. That's all he ever told us, and he never spoke about Mom."

"How old is the youngest? Fourteen, right?" asked Tooth. All of the Guardians could tell that the gears were turning frantically in the fairy's mind, but she didn't say anything about it.

"Four, back then," replied Death from the back of the room.

Tooth's bright violet eyes darted back and forth as she stared at nothing, her lips moving without releasing any words. It was apparent that she was getting at something, and the other four Guardians, not to mention quite a few of the Nightmare Children, were watching her intently. After quite a while, during which they could almost see the puzzle pieces falling into place in the scatterbrained fairy's mind — even though no one except her knew what picture was being formed — she asked in a quiet voice, "There are twelve of you, am I right?"

The captive Nightmare Children exchanged glances. Tempest shrugged, as if saying, _what harm could it do?_

"Twelve of us," said Danger. "Shame, Death, Loss, Dark, Danger the awesome, Wrath, Pain, Solitude, Suffering, Judgment, Tempest, Unknown. Why?"

A couple people objected to "Danger the awesome", but everyone else ignored them.

"Just for confirmation," said Tooth, "you've been growing just like normal children?"

"Eh…more or less," answered Tempest a bit uncomfortably, obviously reminded of some of the escapades of puberty — the Guardians wondered what that was like for Pitch, and almost pitied him. Then she looked up sharply and narrowed her eyes. "But seriously, Feather Head. Why?"

Tooth took on that "deep thinking" look again. "Um…no reason," she said distractedly. "Hey guys, uh, I need to go check up on my fairies, okay? Just to see if they're holding down the fort."

"Umm…okay?" said North. Tooth nodded briskly and zipped away. Sandy held up his hands and put yet another question mark above his head.

"Yeah, you got that right, sand dude," muttered Tempest. She knew that the fairy was hiding something, but what?

"Um, question," said Solitude, raising one hand tentatively. "Is she always like that?"

"Eh…more or less," replied Jack.

The other Guardians began to leave, but Jack stayed. Tempest cocked her head and eyed him as she leaned against the bars of the cell door. "What do _you_ want?" It was an actual question, with a bit of amusement and more than a bit of arrogance inflected in it.

Jack hesitated, blinked, and coughed, not sure how to say it.

"Oooooooooooooooooh…" sang a voice from inside Cell One. "Draaaaaaa-maaaaaaah! I'll go get my popcorn!"

"Shut up, Shame," said Tempest as a red flush crept up her cheeks. "You were saying, Ice Brain?"

Jack inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and lowered his head. "I — I'm sorry."

She was caught somewhat off guard by this. "For what?"

"I — we didn't know about you guys. We thought you did this voluntarily."

Tempest considered this. "Maybe we did." There was no maybe about it.

Jack eyed her confusedly. "What?"

"Even if we hadn't been training our entire lives just to eliminate you Guardians, we still would have done it," Tempest explained, ignoring the tightening of Jack's hands on his staff. "Why? Because we want to make Dad proud, that's why." The others nodded and murmured in assent. "He's loved us, and we want to make him proud of us in return."

"But Pitch is evil!" Jack exploded. "How can you want to _please_ him?"

The other Nightmare Children were all stone silent. "Really?" Tempest cocked her head and gave him that weird little half-smile that he was getting creepily used to. "_Pitch _is evil? Wow. Because this whole time, I thought that the evil ones were the ones we were _attacking_. The ones that punished a man and drove him underground, just because he wanted to be seen. Just because he wanted to be noticed, to be felt, to be _loved. _Just like you, Frost." She gestured to the others behind her and they all looked up, giving him the same little half-smile.

Tempest's voice was soft and maybe a bit rueful as she said, "Just like all of us."

That struck a chord, but Jack tried not to let her see it. He was a Guardian now. He had believers. No longer was he the invisible loner. He had gotten over that fear…mostly.

Tempest smirked when he said nothing, like she could see straight past the mask and right into his heart. "I thought so."

Jack said nothing, nor could he have even if he had had anything to say. He just exhaled, nodded once, and trudged away. But before he left, he turned around to see nine pairs of eyes, _children's eyes,_ watching him. Even if they were teenagers trained and brought up solely for killing, they were all still technically children and all of them were younger than him by at least three hundred years. And even though he didn't want to, Jack felt a pang of emotion, _sympathy _even, for them.

"You know," he said, trying to make his words sound reassuring, "we really don't mean to treat you badly. It's just…we're trying to protect what we stand for, and if you try to kill us just for that…" He wasn't sure how to finish this, so he just shrugged. "I'm sorry."

And with that, Jack Frost left, not knowing the impact he made.

XXXXXXXXX

Several thousand miles away, Unknown felt a surge of his special brand of fear and he frowned, wondering what was going on.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay okay okay. I DID add a thing, the Wal-mart scene. I just got the idea and I thought it'd be funny. :**

**Little shameless self-promo: I FINALLY got a DeviantArt! My username is argenticNocturne and I would really love it if some of the fellow Deviants on here would check my stuff out, see if I'm doing everything right and all because I really don't know how to draw very well and I really don't know how to use the site. 0_0**

**I am also most definitely planning to upload a few sketches from this story so that'd be really awesome if you guys could check them out..? :)**

**Reviews are appreciated, I've got serious writer's block and I love hearing what you guys think about this story, the characters, the concept, everything — it helps me get inspired. Thanks guys! :)**


	8. Attempt (The Third)

**Painapple: HHHRGLAKSIORS ;SFJFDD D DID. DID YOU EVEN READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE OR DID I JUST FORGET TO MENTION. THAT LIKE HOMESTUCK. EVERYTHING HERE IS IMPORTANT I WILL NOT WASTE YOUR TIME WITH ANYTHING THAT WILL NOT HAVE EVENTUAL REPERCUSSIONS.**

**GUYS.**

**PLEASE DO NOT SKIP CHAPTERS BECAUSE YOU DON'T LIKE THE ROMANCE. BECAUSE. CHANCES ARE THE 10,000 WORD CHAPTER HAS 9,900 WORDS OF PLOT IMPORTANCE AND 100 WORDS OF ROMANCE ****_IF ANY AT ALL_****. AND FOR THE LAST TIME THE PLOT ITSELF. HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ROMANCE.**

**I WILL NOT WASTE YOUR TIME WITH FRIVOLITIES. I DO NOT INSERT MORE THAN I ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO IN ORDER TO ROUND OFF A SCENE IN A PLAUSIBLE, BELIEVABLE FASHION. THIS IS NOT REVENGE OF THE ICE PRINCE OR DEATH'S DECEPTION, PEOPLE. THERE WILL NEVER BE A 'FLUFF' CHAPTER AMIDST THE PLOT CHANGES — NOT IN THAT LAST CHAPTER, NOT TODAY IN THIS ONE, NOT IN ANY EPILOGUE NOT EVER AS LONG AS WE'RE HERE.**

**IF YOU SKIP A POTENTIAL 'FLUFF' CHAPTER, YOU WILL BE SKIPPING EVERYTHING NECESSARY AND COMING BACK TO ME CONFUSED AND FURIOUS THAT I DID NOT EXPLAIN IT TO YOU, HOLD YOUR HAND AND TELL YOU "OH THERE'S GOING TO BE IMPORTANT STUFF HERE, BUT DON'T READ THIS PART BECAUSE THE TEENAGERS GET HORMONAL".**

**I KNOW HOW THIS WORKS, PEOPLE.**

**SO I'M TELLING YOU NOW. IT'S EXACTLY LIKE HOMESTUCK. SKIP ONE FREAKING PESTERLOG BECAUSE IT LOOKS REALLY LONG AND YOU SEE YOUR NO-TP — AND SUDDENLY YOU'RE CONFUSED FOR THE REST OF THE 13-ONGOING ACTS BECAUSE THERE WAS A REASON HUSSIE WROTE THE PESTERLOG THAT LONG.**

**LONG STORY SHORT.**

**I DON'T WANT. TO WASTE TIME. WRITING ROMANCE. ANY MORE. THAN YOU WANT. TO WASTE TIME. READING ROMANCE. **

**THERE.**

**IS.**

**NO.**

**REAL.**

**LASTING.**

**ROMANCE.**

**That is all I have to say for now.**

**XXXXXXXXX**

Several things preyed on the mind of the fairy-queen as and after she left the North Pole. First, she was _unbearably_ tired and wished to the Moon above that she was heading back to her palace for a nice rest, maybe a bowl of fruit and a bath, but she knew that this wasn't possible under the circumstances. She needed to get to her palace because of the other three things that were floating around in her mind.

Secondly, the children. The Nightmare Children, as Tempest had so accurately called them. Tempest had said that there were twelve of them, and yet only eight had been sent to rescue their sisters. Why? This troubled Toothiana and she pondered about it for a while. The gentle flurry of snow and wind rippled through her feathers, keeping her alert of the world around her.

Third, what was she going to tell the rest of her girls about Bindi?

Bindi was the lieutenant that had been killed in the crossfire of the battle. Every time Tooth pictured her little fallen warrior, she felt tears come to her eyes that quickly began to freeze in the cold temperatures of the higher skies. Tooth wiped them off and continued on. She would deal with that later. She would have a grand funeral for Bindi with everyone attending when this was over. There would be her favorite flowers, baby's breath, in a wreath on her chest and the elves would provide tolling bells, just like at Sandy's ceremony.

Fourth, and lastly, Tooth wondered if she was right in her theory. It would be a real advantage if she was, but she had to be sure before she told the others. They wouldn't believe her at first, and that was why she needed to go to the palace, to make sure she was right. If she did, then they would be able to act. If not, then…

Tooth shook her head and allowed a small grin to cross her face. Not right, ha! She was almost completely certain. She would bet her _life _that she was right.

"I _will _be betting my life," she told herself as she crossed the ocean, swooping down and allowing her fingers to skim the rippling waves beneath her as she flew. "And the lives of everyone else if all goes well, though knowing men, of course, it probably won't, right? They are_ so _over-protective. I'm a warrior queen, for Manny's sake! How delicate do they think I am?"

This was something that irritated Tooth constantly. Just because she was a woman didn't mean that she was some stupid glass ornament that would shatter if someone walked too much near it. Whenever the men started making battle plans, she knew that she had to fight to get included in it. And, being a warrior queen, her opinion mattered quite a lot, as the other Guardians learned when North had first tried to train the Yetis to defend the Pole. Actually, it had been her that had whipped the big fur balls into shape. North had helped of course, fetching things and laying out maps as Tooth explained the borders of the Pole and the strategic entry and exit points. But little else.

Tooth smiled again, remembering the fun times when they hadn't been battling for their lives every day. When they had just done their jobs and nothing had gone wrong.

Then Pitch came back.

Tooth felt her hands clench as she soared through the skies. _Pitch. _He'd been the cause of all this. He had recruited — stolen, if her hunch was correct — these kids and raised them as soldiers just for the sake of revenge on his enemies. It was horrible and she couldn't even imagine what they must have grown up learning and seeing.

_They had looked pretty happy when they were brawling in that cell,_ said an unbidden voice in her head. Tempest had said that Pitch had loved them and had kept them safe. Safe from what? From _him?_ Tooth sighed. Seeing all those kids together had seriously tapped into the unending motherly instinct that came from a thousand years of taking care of a thousand fairy-daughters.

It was made even worse because of Bindi's death. She was feeling all emotional and that made her feel strangely vulnerable, like when Solitude had called North fat and she had intervened. That was a perfect example. If she hadn't been mourning the death of her daughter and hadn't been nearly dead on her feet from exhaustion, she would have never ordered North to spare the boy. He had insulted North, and so he had deserved whatever punishment North was going to deliver.

Tooth smirked grimly. Yeah, right. North would have never hurt that skinny, long-haired kid. Guardians only ever hurt children in extreme, _extreme_ cases, such as those cases where the children were pointing deadly weapons at them and working for Pitch. She herself had never hurt a child and she was sure that none of the others would ever hurt a child willingly.

When Tooth finally arrived back at her palace, the place was immediately thrown into the lesser definition of chaos as she ordered her smaller entities to find exactly what it was she was looking for. Or, more accurately, to _not _find what she was looking for. A few of them asked her why she hadn't come back with Bindi, but Tooth told her little girls that right now this was priority. She would have to tell them eventually, but not now. Not yet.

After about five minutes of agitated waiting on one of the platforms overlooking her entire palace, one of her fairies tapped her gently on the shoulder and squeaked that they hadn't found them. The Mini Fairy, whose name was Beala, thought that her mother would be sad when she broke the news, but instead her mother seemed to brighten up. She looked even chipper.

"Thank you dear, can you take me to them?" Tooth asked excitedly, rising to her feet and staring expectantly at the little fairy. Beala nodded hesitantly and, wondering if her mother was breaking down from the strain of work and the rumored battle that had taken place at the Pole, led her to the twelve empty tooth compartments.

Tooth's mind was abuzz with excitement. She was right! _She was right! _There could be no denying that now! She only needed a few more pieces of evidence to tell the Guardians of, and she was going to the first of them right now! She felt happier than she had been since this whole thing started and though she still mourned for Bindi and the other fallen warriors, the pain was covered by her excitement at the breakthrough she'd had. Of course she was still sad, but she couldn't let it show. She had to set an example because, as everyone knows, mother knows best.

Tooth followed her fairy to the first tower. There it was, right in front of her. An empty slot. She let a small smile crease her mouth and the little mini-fairy beside her edged away slowly.

"Oh honey, it's all right. I'm fine," she said, patting her little girl gently on the top of her head. "Now, where's the next one?"

Beala squeaked and gestured for her mother to follow her. This cycle continued eleven more times and at the last empty slot, Tooth dismissed her daughter. "Thank you so much, dear. Can you tell Baby Tooth that I'm going back to North's for a bit? I'll be back soon; she just needs to keep an eye on things for another few hours." Beala nodded and Tooth said, "Oh, and thank her for me, will you? She does a lot for me and I don't want her to think she's being underappreciated."

Beala nodded and smiled at her mother.

"Thank you. That is all."

And the little fairy-girl left.

Tooth turned back to the tower where the empty slot gazed out at her, simply waiting to be filled with its respective tooth box. "I suppose this should make me sad," she sighed, running her hand around the edges of the empty hole. "But, given the circumstances, I'm actually…_glad _that it's not there. It proves my theory, and now I can go back to the Pole to tell them." And with that, Tooth took to the skies.

When Pitch had been defeated those long eleven years ago, Tooth and her fairies had worked feverishly to put every tooth box back where it belonged. It had taken almost half a year, what with organizing and sorting and the male Guardians dropping by to _"help" _every so often — which was more of a hindrance than a help because they had not the faintest idea of how to put things right by her sorting system — but the job had eventually been finished. Oh, sure, there were still a few bits and pieces that needed to be cleaned up, a couple dozen assorted tooth boxes to clean and reorganize, but nothing more.

They had all allowed themselves a day of rest and relaxation and after that, business had returned to normal.

For about a day.

Later, one of her fairies had flown to Tooth in a state of panic, squeaking frantically about missing containers and empty slots. Tooth had followed the fairy and had been horrified to learn that there were exactly twelve tooth boxes missing. None had been seen since before Pitch had stolen them all; the other fairies had just assumed they were still being cleaned. They were all from children who were still alive and still filling up their boxes; none of them were older than eight.

The youngest was a four-year-old boy whose first tooth had been knocked out at the age of two when he had fallen down the stairs during the night — Tooth remembered that it had been a miracle, seeing as the tooth had come out cleanly and undamaged and the child had had no other injuries. All of the children were from different countries, too — Canada, Italy, the Netherlands, Ireland, India, Peru, Cambodia, Thailand, Mozambique, Great Britain, America, and Japan. It had been very strange that only these twelve would be missing. And why them?

Tooth was positive that she knew now. Twelve children, between the ages of four and eight — now fourteen and eighteen. Tooth hadn't examined all of them up close, but she knew that their current physical appearances probably had nothing to do with their ethnicities — Pitch could have easily changed them to make them utterly unrecognizable, at least with a little help of magic. Same with the children's powers; drawing power from oneself in order to strengthen another was dangerous and rare but not unheard of. The children's names and their powers were probably specifically selected to match their personalities and lessen suspicion that they had ever been mortal children.

And the language barrier wasn't one that was hard to cross, either. She had a brief, terrifying flashback of the time Jack had gotten his hands on some of North's potions and managed to change Bunny's default language to Japanese, simple as that. It had taken a couple weeks for the antidote to kick in, and even after that Bunny occasionally let slip an accidental _"kuso!"_

Tooth smiled. She had them! She knew now who they were! Despite having no memories, which were easy things to conceal — all it took was a bit of the right kind of magic in the right place and one's entire past could be taken away — it all fit perfectly into place. She knew who they were, and her theory was supported even more when she considered the fact that no teeth had been gathered from any of the twelve children after their boxes had gone missing. Which was probably why she had forgotten about them.

The only flaw in her theory was how and why. If Pitch had indeed abducted those twelve children from the outside world, then why hadn't the Guardians heard about it? Missing children were common in these darker, crueler days, and every time a child vanished, the Guardians would hear about it and do their best to protect that child, even help him or her until they were found. This wasn't specifically in their job description, but come on! All spirits did it and, as Guardians, they were supposed to _protect the children,_ right?

After a long time of flying, Tooth thought she had figured out the answer, though it made her hands clench to even consider it. Still, it was the only thing that made sense.

Even though she was gifted with something of a photographic memory, facts could get muddled after such a long, busy time. She recalled that five, maybe six of the children had been from abusive homes. One of those children, a seven-year-old girl from Mozambique, was being forced into a marriage with a man decades older than her, and when she resisted, her father beat her almost to the point of death, disfiguring her face.

The two eight-year-olds had been child soldiers — stolen from their homes, forced to fight on the sides against the law. One of the other children had been an orphan in a large city orphanage, and the last three from families too poor and too insignificant for the government-paid news channels to make a huge deal about it. The children from abusive homes would probably not have been loved enough for their parents to care if they suddenly vanished. Child soldiers often went missing or were killed, and it wasn't exactly like their criminal owners could call in and ask where they'd gone. And that particular orphanage had been too big and the child too solitary (the child in question had probably been Solitude, come to think of it) for anyone to notice his absence for a while.

Tooth felt her hands start to shake, though whether this was from the rapidly sinking temperature as she flew farther north, from anger, or from both, she didn't know. She hated hearing about children who lived like that, hated the people who were supposed to care for them, and most of all hated herself for not doing anything about it.

_Oh, come on,_ she scolded herself harshly. _These children dropped off the face of the earth. You couldn't have helped them._

"But I can help them now!" she argued fiercely. And she would. She would help them.

"The only problem is," she remarked to herself and her three by-flying lieutenants as she skimmed the surface of the Atlantic, "how will I get them to believe me? I don't have their memories, Pitch probably does, and they've been brought up to believe all Guardians are evil."

She thought and thought until she eventually came up with one simple answer. She would have to get the twelve tooth boxes back from Pitch.

_The others aren't going to like this, _said a little voice in her head that sounded remarkably like her own. (Don't think she's crazy, and don't deny it — we all have the voice. It's called our conscience. Most people just ignore it.)

"Well, tough," she smirked.

The tooth boxes were virtually indestructible. Special enchanted wards around each and every one ensured that nothing short of a nuclear explosion could even dent them. And they were literally impenetrable if one did not own the teeth inside, or was not usually allowed access to the Tooth Columns in the palace. There were several ways to wipe the memories stored inside the teeth, and all required the children themselves to be present at the time the magic was cast. So it was unlikely that Pitch had destroyed the boxes. They were probably locked up or hidden somewhere. The problem now was to find them.

"Now they'll have to let me go," said Tooth as she fluttered above the frigid tundra. "I'm the only one who can sense the teeth!"

And that thought was what kept her going all the way back to North's.

XXXXXXXXX

Back in his lair, Pitch was getting antsy. And that was not good for anyone within five meters of him. Each time he paced down his bedroom he shot a blast of nightmare sand at the wall, leaving the already-black wall peppered with small craters and burn marks.

It had been nearly three hours since he had sent his children to bring back their sisters and he hadn't heard a word from any of them. The situation down here was no better either. Pitch had recently attempted the tenth father-to-son talk with Unknown and, as with the first nine, failed. There had been little more than shrugs or the shaking of heads from the victim of the attempted conversation. Absolutely no progress, save Pitch learning that Unknown liked silver gel pens, watched anime on his iPod after everyone else had gone to bed, and could not be bribed into talking, even with chocolate. It wasn't exactly helpful information.

After another five minutes of pacing, he let out a groan of frustration and hurled another mighty discharge at the wall. The blast sent sand and shattered rock flying everywhere and did nothing to placate his mood. Surely a rescue didn't take that long. His children — _all ten of them —_ should be back by now with blood on their hands and smiles on their faces!

Snarling, Pitch stomped over to his mahogany bedside table and wrenched open the drawer. Inside was a slim black cell phone that he had stolen out of curiosity a few years ago. He took the phone out, turned it on, and scrolled through the contact list, trying to decide which Nightmare Child he should call. Several years ago, the Nightmare Children had begged for phones and Pitch had reluctantly agreed, reasoning that it would be easier than using his shadows and nightmare sand each time he wanted them.

The result had been less than fun. Danger had dropped hers in a lava pit while exploring the deeper underground caverns and as punishment hadn't been allowed another one for a year. When she had gotten _that _one, she had accidentally used it to call in an air strike on a tiny pizza place in Tallahassee. Pitch hadn't been pleased with that episode either. Then, as if Danger's antics weren't bad enough, Judgment got caught making prank calls with his phone and hadn't been allowed it for another year as well.

Then Suffering decided it would be fun to order fifteen thick-crust pepperoni pizzas to the lair and Pain decided it would be even more fun to swipe the pizza boy's truck. Danger, Shame, and Wrath had hence stolen it from Pain and taken it on a joyride throughout some of the larger corridors of the lair, kidnapping the hapless Judgment and Death as they did so. Solitude, Dark, and Unknown had then seen it a perfect opportunity to exercise their brands of fear on the poor lost pizza guy as he stumbled alone and confused through the dark mazelike corridors of the lair, which in fact gave them so much new strength that they were, quite literally, bouncing off the walls for a week afterwards. Meanwhile, Tempest and Loss had instituted a pizza-eating contest and spent the next hour or so puking out their guts. Neither of them ever ate pepperoni pizza ever again.

Pitch had _really _not been pleased with this one. Keep in mind, this was when they were in the grip of adolescence. If you think pimples, mood swings, and greasy hair is bad, try dealing with twelve pubescent partial-spirits with _phones!_

At the end of it all, Pitch had resolved not to give back any of their phones until they were old and mature enough to handle them. Even then he still caught Danger making the occasional air strike call.

Out of all the Nightmare Children, Death was actually the one most capable of maintaining a phone. Arrogant as he could be, he still had a bit more in between the ears than the average teenager. But Pitch wouldn't call _his _phone. Every time he called that kid, he always sounded slightly amused and only a few weeks ago he'd found out why — instead of a normal caller ID photos, he'd Google the person's name and use the most sarcastic picture he could find. For example, Pain's picture was the fat red monster from the Hercules movie, Dark was just a plain black screen, Wrath's was a chibi version of Wrath from the 2003 Fullmetal Alchemist anime, and Pitch's was of some really beefy tattooed wrestler named The Boogeyman. In addition, Death was the kind of person who rigged his voicemail to sound like he was actually picking up the phone and, when he actually did pick up, which was a rare occasion, answered with things like: "Hello, Head Secretary Nico di Angelo speaking, from the city morgue. You stab 'em, we tag 'em. How may I help you?"

So no, not Death. There was something really wrong with that kid.

Pitch finally decided to call Wrath. The eighteen-year-old was ridiculously overprotective of his phone; in fact he had nearly killed Solitude when the younger boy had accidentally spilled a bit of water on one of the corners. He would still have his, Pitch assured himself. He pressed the call icon and waited. The cheery dial tone made him cringe and hold the phone a few inches away from his ear. About a minute later, someone picked up but instead of of Wrath's familiar brusque "WHAT?" on the other end, he heard North's voice booming from the speaker. " 'Alloo…?"

Promptly, Pitch hung up.

A shriek tore its way from his throat and, with all the strength in those wire-thin arms, he hurled the phone across the room where it hit the wall and burst into tiny pieces. "DAMMIT!" he swore. There could be only one reason why Nicholas St. North would have Wrath's phone. The others had been captured.

"Damn damn _damn it all!"_ Pitch yelled, kicking everything in his path as he stomped towards the door. He nearly wrenched it off its hinges, but he didn't care. "SUFFERING!"

XXXXXXXXX

Suffering was really, really, really bored.

Sure, she had liked the idea of staying at home while all of her idiot siblings went out to fight a battle that wasn't even theirs, but now that she was actually home by herself (with Pitch and Unknown of course, but they didn't count) she found it boring. Horribly boring. Torturously boring. _Excruciatingly_ boring.

Though not much of a talker, Suffering was a social little creature with only occasional bouts of antisocial-ness. She actually quite liked her siblings — they amused her. They were huge and stupid and self-obsessed. They still mostly saw her as a kid due to her…_vertical challenges _(she was seventeen and had never passed four and a half feet and it annoyed the crap out of her) but always remembered to give her a chance to talk when she wanted it, because otherwise she'd kick someone to kingdom come. And it was funny. But now that they weren't around, she had nothing to do.

After they'd left, she took a quick nap and then got a snack from the kitchen. Still yawning from her _siesta_, she wandered the hallways of the lair until she found herself in the library. Pitch had a surprisingly large library and she often came here just to sit and think. It was a little more illuminated than the other rooms in the lair, but just because so many of the children liked to read. Pitch himself had night vision and could read perfectly fine in the dark, but she and her siblings hadn't completely inherited this talent. Except for Dark, of course, but that came in the package of his powers, so he didn't count.

She curled up in her favorite chair, which was a huge, antique-y one with intricately carved mahogany armrests and black leather cushions, and stared at the marble bust that rested on a pedestal next to the chair. She didn't know who the bust was supposed to be of — Loss had failed to bring the plaque when she and Danger had stolen it from the British Museum — but she thought that it reminded her of Judgment. It had the same formal hairstyle, condescending eyes, big nose, and puckered mouth that gave Suffering the impression of someone who had just sucked the insides out of a lemon.

She made a weird face at it, sticking her tongue out of the left corner of her mouth, crossing her eyes, and scrunching up her nose.

It was only when she was making said weird face that she noticed someone was watching her. Unknown was standing in the aisle between two of the bookshelves, holding his quarterstaff in one hand and a leather-bound alchemy textbook in the other. He looked extremely weirded out. Slowly, she pulled her tongue back inside her mouth.

They stayed like this, staring at each other without moving or saying a word. Then Unknown said, "Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought."

The sarcasm was obvious. Suffering grimaced. "Don't tell Dad, okay?"

Her brother said nothing.

She sighed. "Please?"

He just shrugged. Then he turned around and started…running. _Great, _Suffering thought. _Now he's gonna tell Dad. _She was used to this behavior from years of living with Danger, Shame, and Judgment — widely known as the Tattlesnakes, for the obvious reasons. Each time one of them caught one of their other siblings doing something their father wouldn't approve of, the guilty party would make the witness promise not to tell and he or she would promise with a perfectly straight face, then run off and tell Daddy-Dearest what they'd seen.

Suffering sighed in defeat and sunk down in her chair, resigning herself to a major telling-off from her father. It would make sense that Unknown would want to get her in trouble anyway — she hadn't exactly been friendly with him lately especially after that one burrito incident, and always held it over his head that though she was the only one in the lair who was smaller than him, she could still take him down any day. Maybe this was his weird method of revenge. But as she watched her younger brother sprint down the aisle between the shelves, she received an unexpected surprise — instead of running towards the door, he kept going straight, making a beeline for one of the bookshelves. Right before he was about to crash into the one at the end of the aisle, he leaped into the air.

His momentum carried him up, up, and up — more than it should have. Suffering's eyes followed him as he soared, seemingly gliding on the dim, shadowy air, and she couldn't help but feel a little bit awed as he landed lithely and silently at the top of the bookshelf at the end, which was easily eight to ten feet high. Then he turned, sat down, dangled his feet over the edge, opened the book he had been carrying, and started reading.

_Well, that's definitely new,_ a little voice said in Suffering's head. _Maybe the kid isn't as clumsy as we all first thought._

She ignored both Unknown and the voice and continued making weird faces at the marble bust that looked like Judgment. It comforted her somehow. Every time she really made faces at the actual Judgment, he just gave her a weird look and told her the proper way to make a weird face, then he demonstrated by making a weird face at her. Each time he did this, she was almost sure he was mocking her, but the way he said it was so flat and monotoned that maybe he was being completely serious. She could never really tell.

Unknown ignored her and kept reading.

After a few minutes, during which Suffering made about thirty different weird faces as well as flipped off the bust, just to pass the time and amuse herself, and Unknown didn't move from his perch save to turn the pages, a Nightmare came trotting into the library and approached Suffering.

"What is it, Obsidian?" she asked. Obsidian was one of her father's favorite Nightmares. Fast, but in all honesty not very bright. She listened intently as it spoke to her through the universal shadow-language that all creatures of darkness understood, and groaned as it told her that her father wished to see her. She could guess what he wanted to see her for. Her idiot siblings had gotten themselves captured and she was going to have to go to war.

Looking up, she saw that Unknown was seemingly absorbed into his book. There was no sign that he had heard her conversation with Obsidian at all. But as she left with the Nightmare and glanced back up to the bookshelf, she realized that Unknown, his quarterstaff, and his book had all vanished when she hadn't been watching.

"That kid's pretty useless," remarked Suffering warily, "but he sure is creepy." Obsidian tossed her head as if in response and, shivering, Suffering shook her head and followed Obsidian to Pitch's throne room.

XXXXXXXXX

Invisibly, Unknown smiled before pulling a small journal and a pencil stub out of his pockets, comparing the notes inside to the text in his lap, and adding the final touches. He had no doubt that Suffering wouldn't come back — if eight Nightmare Children couldn't do it, one wouldn't cut it, no way.

Unless they had his advantage.

He flipped a few pages back and scanned the notes over again, double-checking to make sure it would work.

It was like a domino track — tip one domino and set off a chain, which would push a car down a slope into a pulley system and so on, until each obstacle was bypassed.

It was a plan that could bring down every magic ward in the Guardians' stronghold and it rested in his hands, even though — unknown to him — the dominos would never be tipped.

Not by him, at least.

XXXXXXXXX

"Suffering," said Pitch upon her entrance into the throne room. "My dear girl. Come closer."

Suffering made sure to emphasize her limping and staggering as she made her way towards him. She kept her lolling head down, her loose grey hair over her face, and her hand on her arm — the picture of a wounded, helpless, and possibly mentally unstable girl. Her theories were that if she appeared pathetic enough, Pitch might let her stay home…and maybe send Unknown to get captured instead. Or something like that. Hopefully.

But why did she do this? Well, she was a teenager. She was rebelling for rebellion's sake, that's all. It only came naturally.

"Suffering," said Pitch when she stopped five feet away from him, "don't be scared of me. Come closer."

She took one unstable step forward, then stopped again.

Pitch sighed, then stood and stooped next to her. He brushed her hair out of her face and tilted her chin up to meet his eyes, then he smiled comfortingly (or what he considered as smiling comfortingly). Suffering remained completely poker faced, making sure to keep her eyes unfocused and a bit crossed.

"Suffering, my dear girl," he said, "I hope you're feeling better."

A tear rolled down her cheek and she shook her head mutely, as if too pained to speak.

The all-too-obviously-fake smile on Pitch's face shrank a few molars. "Well, I know something that will make you feel better…" (and this is where Suffering started to groan, but only in her head) "…you're going to get to kidnap a Guardian!"

Suffering stared at him, blank-faced. "Nuh uh," she said stoutly, though she was thinking, _He's gonna make me do it anyway, isn't he? Of course he is! Well, it's better than actually _fighting _one of them, but not by a lot, right? _Her father was definitely going to force her to do it; he had no other options except Unknown. That choice was definitely out, proven in the last battle. Still, she was going to make this difficult for her father. Why should Danger have all the fun? "I can't go like this!"

Pitch sighed aloud and stood up. "Suffering — " he tried to say, but she was on a roll now. This was her arena.

"My hand's s-s-still cut and I c-c-can't hold my whip!" she continued, choking her voice and letting another tear fall. "H-h-how'm I supposed to defend myself if I can't hold my whip?"

Pitch narrowed his eyes and Suffering knew that she was in trouble. Okay, so maybe she _had _overdone it a little with the tearful stuttering. _Crap, _she groaned mentally. _I am so dead._

Her father towered over her, scrutinizing her carefully with his eclipse-like eyes. They traveled from her permanently scarred face to her right hand.

_Oh, what the hell, I might as well, _she thought, then she commenced in praying. _Please let it work, please let it work, don't let him see my "wounds" —_

But Suffering's vain plea to no one didn't work. Pitch knelt again and said sternly, "Let me see your hand." She held out her unwounded left hand. "No, your wounded hand." Reluctantly she held out the still-bandaged right hand, and he took it in his cold fingers. Suffering's heart started to pound as he unwrapped the bandages and revealed her unwounded greyish-green skin.

Of course, there were small scrapes and calluses from years and years of weapons practice and the afflictions of wherever she had originally come from, but no cut. By the amount of blood, and there had been a lot of blood, they had all assumed that it had just been a very deep cut that, even with the speedy healing process, would not have completely healed by now. So it was unthinkable that her hand "wound", which was really just a lot of blood smeared over her hand to make it look like she had been cut, could have healed.

"Suffering," said Pitch slowly, "your hand wasn't wounded at all, was it?"

The small seventeen-year-old hesitated, then nodded.

"And I am guessing your 'concussion' was faked, too?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Suffering shifted her weight and nodded again.

Pitch sighed yet again and gazed into her eyes, giving her a small and none too kind smile. "I suppose it was for the best," he said, "because if you had gone with them, you would have been captured. You are my last hope now, Suffering."

Suffering resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. _What about that idiot Unknown? _she wanted to scream. _He's here! Send him, not me! _But in her heart she knew that it wasn't going to happen. Pitch would only send him after Suffering went, and then after he himself went. And if they both failed, _then _he would send Unknown. But then there would be no chance for any kind of victory and no one to tell Unknown what to do, and he'd be free.

_I hate that kid, _she grumbled.

Yet, when Pitch looked into her eyes, she felt something stir inside her. Pride. Pride that her father hoped that she could become the potential hero of this story. Pride that he believed in her.

It was a curious feeling and it gave her strength and confidence, confidence in herself that she had never known that she had. "What do I have to do?" she asked, knowing that she might as well give it a shot. If something bad happened, she might be able to see her siblings again before she was tortured to death. _And oh what a joy that'll be, _she mused ruefully.

Pitch reached inside his robe and, from a hidden inside pocket, pulled out a small object. When he placed it in her hands, she found that it was a tiny dagger in a black sheath. Upon drawing it out, she saw that the four-inch blade was made out of pure, sharp red glass the color of fresh blood.

"When regular black sand is heated to its melting point," explained Pitch, "it turns into red glass. But when nightmare sand is melted, something happens to it. The one creating the glass can slip in a strain of magic, strong magic that would otherwise destroy it. And with that magic within it, the glass object can be enchanted to do anything, but only one thing per object."

"Is this one of those?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes."

"What does it do?"

"That is where you come in, my girl," said Pitch. "You will sneak into the Pole and find a Guardian; it matters not which one. But if you touch the tip of this to their forehead, then they will instantly be transported back here, and I can use them as a bargaining chip. You are not to rescue your siblings, or even try. Just get in, touch the dagger to a Guardian, and get out as fast as you can."

Suffering let a tiny smile slip past her mask. "I like the sound of that. When should I go?"

"Now would be nice."

"Then I'll go," replied Suffering, clipping the glass dagger to her belt. "I promise, Father. I won't fail you."

But as she mounted Obsidian and sped out of the lair, she didn't hear Pitch saying quietly, "You had better not."

XXXXXXXXX

She slipped in by way of the same loopholes that Danger had used earlier — North hadn't bothered to seal them up, almost as if he was daring any other Nightmare Children to come, which of course he was. Upon arrival in the Globe Room, though, she saw only one person around — the Sandman, asleep in a chair. He was a Guardian, right? He'd work.

She drew the glass dagger and crept furtively forward, silent and agile as a cat in her suede-booted feet. The little golden man didn't stir, other than the steady, soft rise and fall of his plump chest. He looked so peaceful now as he slept, but Suffering had seen and met him in action and knew not to judge him by his cover. He was dangerous and must be eliminated.

She stopped right in front of him. Still he slept, seemingly oblivious to the danger that awaited him. Suffering gripped her dagger, raised it above his shoulder level, and prepared to run to her Nightmare when it worked. Just one touch, Father had said. One touch of the tip to his head, and it would be over.

Then, a second before the blood-red tip would touch the golden man's forehead, a thick tendril of gold sand snapped around her wrist and pulled it back. Suffering had only time to yelp once before the sand rope yanked her around by her arm, spinning her and sending the glass dagger clattering on the ground. Another sand whip clamped over her other wrist and she stopped abruptly, only to find herself face-to-face with a scowling Sandman.

At least, he _was _scowling. Until he brushed back Suffering's tangled grey hair and saw her face directly for the first time.

He saw the face of a child. Thin and with a sickly greyish-green tint, it was mottled with bruises and sprinkled with cuts that never healed. Underneath a dark grey outfit that loosely resembled a prisoner's jumpsuit, the rest of her skinny, small body was no better off. She might have once been pretty, had it not been for all of the flaws that made her seem years beyond her age, yet so small and innocent at the same time. Her lips were swollen and her nose was slightly crooked, suggesting that at one time it had been broken. Her eyes were large and washed-out grey, but what alarmed Sandy was what he saw in them — pain, tears, terror, reflections of a life that she didn't remember but regretted anyway…

He saw the face of a broken little girl whose dreams had never come true.

She saw his fierce golden eyes widen and blink in shock, and his round face softened as he stared at her. Emotions flashed across his face almost too fast for her to comprehend — horror, sympathy, anger, sorrow, something that might have been kindness…

She saw the face of an ancient dreammaker who hadn't known that the one he was fighting was also a child he was charged to protect.

XXXXXXXXX

They stayed in the same position for what felt like hours, staring into each other's eyes with emotions too tangled to name, until a familiar female voice startled the two whip-wielders out of their locked trance.

"Sandy!" Tooth cried. "Sandy, you will never believe what I found — well, you might, but I hardly could when I realized — wait, what are you doing? Who's she? Oh my Moon…" The first sentence was when her mouth was running off without her brain, as mouths have a tendency to do. The second sentence was when she first saw Suffering. The third was when she looked closer at the girl's face and glimpsed the flaws.

Sandy stood up straight and controlled his sand in such a way so as to spin Suffering around to directly face Tooth. The golden sand around Suffering's right wrist brought her unresisting hand up and made her wave to the somewhat surprised fairy.

"Umm…hi?" said Tooth, waving back tentatively. "Sandy, do you want me to go get North and the others?"

He glanced at Suffering and shrugged. The girl refused to meet his eyes. Tooth nodded in reply and fluttered off, leaving them alone. Her news could wait.

Sandy kept watching Suffering. She did not try to wrestle out of her bonds, nor did she try to run. She just stood there with her head lowered in defeat. Shyly, Sandy tapped her hand to get her attention, which was actually low enough for him to reach easily. She looked at him, hatred and sorrow in those large, wet grey eyes.

He decided to try to talk to the girl. Maybe she wasn't as wild as the others, though judging by her fighting technique during the battle she was just as well trained. _I'm sorry, _he wrote with his finger, spelling out the words in curly golden dreamsand letters. Some things were too difficult to say through pictures.

Suffering shook her head and looked away. Sandy tapped her hand again and wrote new words in the air. _Don't worry. We won't hurt you._

"So you say," she snapped in a hoarse, choked voice. "Father told me and my siblings what Guardians do to Nightmare Children. I doubt if my brothers and sisters are even alive anymore."

_But they are alive, _Sandy wrote, wishing he could pound Pitch for the lies he had fed to these children.

"Right," the girl sniffed weakly. "Then why can't I feel their suffering?"

Sandy did not know how to reply to this. He didn't know how she could "feel their suffering", but he supposed it was kind of like how Pitch could sense fear. And if this was true, he knew why she couldn't feel anything — not because they were dead, but because right now North was delivering their meals of Christmas cookies, candy canes, and hot cocoa. He had a feeling she wouldn't believe him anyway, so the little man just shook his head and looked away.

A few minutes later, Bunny bounded into the room with Tooth, North, and Jack in tow. North had another power-blocking collar at the ready, along with one of his swords, just in case. Unlike what her siblings would have done if they had been conscious when captured, which they hadn't, Suffering did not resist when North clipped it around her neck and disarmed her. Sandy released her from the sand bonds, and the Guardians led their unresisting prisoner down to Cell One.

XXXXXXXXX

The other ten prisoners of Cell One were no longer acting like prisoners. Because of the cold in the lower levels of the Pole — which kept increasing because Jack liked to visit Tempest — North had given each of the Nightmare Children a Christmas sweater in place of the dirty black jackets most of them wore. At first the children had refused to wear them and, when North had inquired why, Judgment stepped forward and explained patiently that Nightmare Children simply did not and _could not _wear bright colors. Except for Danger, who loved red for some unexplainable reason.

Anyway, so North had reluctantly exchanged the bright Rudolf-patterned sweaters for plain black ones, and the children had accepted gladly. When Jack came down to visit Tempest next — which was the fifth time in three hours — Danger complained loudly that if Jack was going to be seeing her sister this much, she should at least bring a thermal blanket when they got married. Tempest had swiped Loss's sharp rock and thrown it at her younger sister's invincible yet oftentimes empty head, which caused another highly amusing prison brawl. Solitude had happily provided the commentary and quickly became another victim.

Right now they were drinking hot cocoa and trading cookies. They had each gotten a heaping plate of cookies, along with several candy canes each, and were sorting and trading the ones they liked and didn't like. Tempest liked triple chocolate chunk, Danger liked sugar cookies, Dark — who had woken up about half an hour ago and preferred to stay as far away from the lights as he could by hiding in the shadows of the other Nightmare Children — liked the burnt ones, Judgment liked oatmeal raisin (which there were none of), and Death liked snickerdoodles. Those were just some of the examples.

They had even started playing poker for the cookies because there were so many of them and were finally beginning to actually enjoy themselves, but they all went silent when the Guardians came in with Suffering. The girl's head was down and her hair obscured her face as always. Halfway down the hallway she stumbled over nothing, as she had a tendency to do when her vision was blurred by tears, and fell to her hands and knees.

The Guardians went to help her, but Tooth and Sandy got there first. Tooth and Sandy's eyes met as they helped the girl up, and several silent messages passed between them. Tooth nodded and zipped off.

"Where's Tooth going?" asked Jack.

Sandy just smiled ruefully at the winter spirit before helping Suffering sit down on the ground. The girl was sobbing into her hands.

_What's wrong? _asked Sandy through his sand words.

"I — I've failed," she wept. "I j-just wanted to make F-Father proud…but…I've failed."

The little dreammaker placed one hand on her shoulder comfortingly and said no more. A second later, Tooth burst into the corridor and darted to Suffering's side. She was holding a wet washcloth in her hands.

"Hey," Tooth smiled gently. "Look at me. Let me see those wounds."

"They won't heal," croaked Suffering. "They've never healed, ever."

"Never?" repeated Tooth incredulously. "Oh, you poor thing…"

"Umm…Tooth?" inquired Bunny. "What are — what — ?" The Pooka didn't seem to be capable of finishing his question.

Tooth stared at him with those large violet eyes. "What am I doing?" she finished, a note of steel lacing her voice. "I'm trying to show this girl that she does matter. That she's not just a tool to be used by Pitch."

Everyone was stone silent for quite a while. "Tooth?" inquired North. "Do you know something that we don't?"

Hurriedly, Tooth explained to the Guardians and the Nightmare Children what she had managed to piece together about the real origins of the children, then she started to tell them her plan.

Danger was the first to react. "Oh yeah? And how do we know you're not lying?"

"Because I'm not!" cried Tooth. "Why would I lie?"

"To persuade us to join you, possibly," suggested Death as if it was obvious.

Tooth hesitated. She hadn't thought of that. She knew they wouldn't believe her at first, but she had anticipated waiting a little bit before telling them. Now she had to come up with a sensible explanation, and fast. "Look," she said finally. "There's no way to prove that I'm not lying until we get your memories back. And to do that, I need your guys' help."

"Tooth," said Jack, but she ignored him.

"So will you help me? Please?" she asked, but then she faltered when she met the scowling black eyes of Judgment.

"We don't know if you are telling the truth," he said, taking on his official, studious manner, "and even if you were, we have no motivation other than a few useless memories to help you."

"Actually, Feather Head is right," interjected Tempest grimly, also standing. "Those tooth boxes might just be our way to find out who we really are. It's true; Dad's been using us as tools to wipe out his enemies. Think about it!" she said with a fire in her blue eyes, turning to her siblings. She'd been born a natural orator; making people really think about things was what she did. "He's pushed every one of us for this since the day we woke up. _Ten flipping years_ of training and practice, just for revenge. And if you don't like that, then tough." She could feel her powers pushing out through her fingertips and though the collar stopped her from using them, she still felt the familiar tingling under her skin and the wind in her hair.

Her adoptive siblings stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. "You — you can't possibly be thinking of — of _joining the Guardians,_ are you?" spluttered Judgment.

"Call me naïve," said Tempest coolly, leaning against the wall and trying to keep her infamous temper in check, "but I'm actually considering it."

_"__What?!"_ gasped Judgment, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish.

"So you'll help me?" asked Tooth hopefully.

Tempest's indifferent smirk never wavered. "I never said that. I just said that I was considering it. If you want to sneak into Father's lair and rummage through his underwear drawers for twelve boxes of decade-old baby teeth, be my guest. But that's a tad too treasonous, even for me."

Tooth's hopeful smile fell. She had been hoping for some support from at least one of these kids, but now that she saw no one was going to help her she realized that she was now on her own. Then her face hardened with resolve. "Fine, then," she said. "If you won't help me, I'll go alone. And I'll prove to you that we're trying to help you."

"But Tooth!" burst Jack impulsively. "You can't go!"

He saw in his peripheral vision her hand unconsciously rubbing the shiny pommel of the curved saber she had picked up after the fight and taken to carrying around wherever she went. "Why not, Jack?"

"It's too dangerous," he replied as if this was the most obvious answer in the world.

"It's the only way," she said. "More people would attract attention. This is a stealth mission."

"Right," came Danger's snarky voice from inside the cell. "Like a flying bird-woman with swords and glittering feathers inside a shadow palace is _not _going to stand out. Real stealthy, sure."

"No, I meant, it's too dangerous for you," Jack said, ignoring Danger's comment.

"Me?" inquired Tooth. She knew where he was going with this, but she was going to give him a chance to save himself. "Why me?"

If he hadn't seen the fire in her eyes and didn't at that time catch a glimpse of that warrior of long ago, he might have told her the straight truth — that she was a woman, and the weakest of the five Guardians. But he didn't dare now. Any weakness that she had formerly shown was gone.

"Because I'm a girl?" she said for him.

Meekly, Jack nodded. He had no other words.

She cocked her head, then said, "Well, this girl is about to show you what she can really do."

And with that, Tooth raised her wings and fluttered off with her three little lieutenants in tow, ready to infiltrate the lair of the Nightmare King. "If I never come back, have a nice funeral for me!" she called as she left.

Everything was silent as the doors leading out of the prison corridors slammed shut behind her. This silence was broken when Shame sang, "Oooooooohhhhh…"

Jack turned a glare towards the silver-haired girl that could literally freeze a swimming pool in the summer. "What?"

"You just got rejected," she grinned.

Bunny snickered. "And here I thought Danger was the snarky one."

"Shut up, fuzzball." Danger stuck her tongue out at him.

Jack just rolled his eyes.

XxXxX


	9. Forgotten (Attempt the Fourth)

**CrypticHecate: *rubs hands together* Okay… }:]  
><strong>Azorawing: *stares at you, then passes out* GOODBYE WORLD<br>******TheShapeShifter100: Yes I DO have the latest book, and it's AMAZING SO FAR! XD  
><strong>Painapple:<br>******wheezingsock. tumblr. post / 99989786255  
><strong>(Take out the spaces, because we all know how fanfic dot net is about links.)<br>******That is literally all I have to say to you anymore, dear.**

**XXXXXXXXX**

**Fun fact: the vibrant, shining colors of hummingbirds' feathers isn't actually from pigments in the feathers. The feathers themselves are composed of a reflective, iridescent material that works just like a prism and requires light to bring out the colors. My theory is that Tooth's feathers, and those of her fairies, are similar and so she wouldn't be half as conspicuous in the lightless lair as you might think.**

XXXXXXXXXX

Tooth entered Pitch's lair by way of the only entrance she knew — the hole in Burgess Forest. The rickety, rotten old bed frame over the hole was long gone, but the hole itself was still wide open. They had found that it was only visible and tangible to Guardians and other spirits (and, on second thought, probably to also the Nightmare Children) but even still, people tended to avoid that section of the forest. There the shadows were longer and darker, and the sky seemed farther away. Even the trees showed the barest traces of rot and decay as the eerie, almost deathly aura of the entrance to Pitch's lair spread like an invisible mist.

Before Tooth left the Pole, she had picked up a few things that might aid her in her search. Namely, a pair of night-vision goggles and another sword, just in case. Her three head lieutenants, of course, were all with her — Bri, Bava, and Bellon. It's never a good idea to enter unfamiliar enemy territory alone, especially when you are dealing with one who resides in shadows. It couldn't hurt to have another three sets of eyes watching her back.

"Okay girls," she whispered to them when they reached the entrance. She had a sudden urge to whisper, though she knew that it was simply the very near presence of Pitch making her uneasy. She glanced at the entrance. It often seemed to shift in size when the eye wasn't focused on it, sometimes being large enough to let in three Yetis and other times so small that not even the skinny Jack could squeeze through. Right now it was barely big enough for her to fly through, wings and all. "We'll make it fast. Get in, find the teeth, grab them, get out. Bri, you stay here and guard the entrance. Make sure nothing goes in or comes out until I do. If anything does, hide, judge what it is, then make your moves like I trained you too."

Bri saluted. _Yes, mother._

"Now, Bava, Bellon, you two flank me. Keep to the shadows, but not too far away. If I'm captured, go up to the surface and straight back to the palace. Tell Baby Tooth to stay where she is and I'll try to escape. Don't tell the other Guardians, all right? They'll just panic."

The other two nodded without a sound, almost too scared to even speak telepathically. Steeling herself, Tooth dove down into the hole and into darkness. Bava and Bellon followed. The hole was like a gaping maw lined with grinning, broken stalactite teeth and she had to fly slowly and carefully in order not to get her wings caught on the jagged spires of stone. Only her night-vision goggles saved her from flying into the floor that came rushing up to meet her, then the walls and rock pillars as she traversed down the dark corridor.

After flying down the dark tunnel for quite a while, her goggles started to register a bit of light and she was forced to take them off. That was the one drawback, North had explained to her when he, the only one who had been quick enough to catch her while leaving, had seen her borrowing them. They could blind you if even the smallest amount of light was shone suddenly on them.

As she took the goggles off, she turned to her two girls and put her finger to her lips, motioning for them to hide farther back behind her. If there was light, then that meant someone must be close by. They nodded and flew back a few feet. She turned back to the light and slowly, carefully flew forward. It was dim and watery, like candlelight, and Tooth wondered why Pitch would want candles down here.

_It must be for the children, _she thought. _They must not have night vision like their father._

Speaking of their father…

Tooth gingerly made her way through the tunnel, making sure not to touch any of the shadows cast by the light. It was coming from around a bend in the tunnel and, when she got to the bend, she hesitated. Should she…?

_I have to. I'm not some wimpy damsel in distress! I am a warrior! _she told herself, trying to be brave. The truth was, she feared the Nightmare King. Who wouldn't under her circumstances? He had caused the children to stop believing in her, and no one had ever done that before. Maybe it was just her imagination running away, but she felt less sure about this than she had when she had first set out from the Pole. Then she had been confident that she could get in and out with no problems. Now she was almost shaking. Fear was wrapping its cold hands around her heart, beckoning to her and gesturing towards the way she had come. She could just leave, couldn't she? She was still at the threshold; she could turn back! Forget the teeth! There were other ways!

_NO! _she scolded herself, turning away from the opening and rubbing her arms. She was cold, so cold. She couldn't imagine living down here for ten years, which the children had, much less a lifetime, which Pitch had. _That's just the fear talking! Fear is Pitch's element! I am Toothiana, warrior queen. I. Am. Not Afraid._

"I am not afraid," she whispered. A small flare of warmth bloomed in her heart and chased the fear away. "I'm _not _afraid!"

_Yeah, great for you. You'll also be dead if you raise your voice a little higher, _her ever-helpful brain told her, very neatly ruining the moment.

_I know, I know,_ she told the little voice, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself before peeking around the corner and scanning the panorama before her. The light was indeed being cast by a candle and by its light she could see Pitch Black himself, slouching in a black marble throne placed in the center of the room. She was facing his side, but she clearly saw that his eyes were closed and he was holding his forehead, his elbow resting on the arm of his throne. He looked tired and disheveled and altogether much more _human _and for a moment, just a brief moment, Tooth felt pity for the man.

_Pity! _she scoffed, disgusted with herself for even thinking it. _This is the man who abducted children to use them as…as TOOLS in a fit of childish revenge! He lied to them and turned them into super soldiers, and for what? To bring down the beings who put him back in the dark, where he belongs! _Tooth felt the rage-tainted courage that she had felt briefly at the Pole resurface, so intensely and overwhelmingly now that it took actual willpower to keep herself from flying out there and pounding Pitch Black like he so richly deserved!

_Focus, girl, _she reminded herself. _I'm here for the teeth and only the teeth. Once I get them and I can prove to those children that I was telling them the truth, they'll be able to take their own revenge on the one who dared call himself their "father"._

Tooth pulled out of her thoughts and gazed out at the scene before her once again. The nightmare sand swirled around the man in the throne as if out of its own accord, even though he still never moved. Shadows danced everywhere, surrounding the Nightmare King as if they were bowing before him. They probably were, too.

She waited for a long time, trying to figure out the best way to sneak past Pitch. He was facing away from her for the most part, but if she could see his face she knew he could see hers if he opened his eyes at the wrong moment. She glanced back at her girls. They were three feet behind her and, when she gestured in asking if she should risk it, they shook their heads violently. _Are you nuts?! _Bava squealed. Then she blushed. _I mean…it's not exactly —_

_I have to try, _she told them telepathically.

Both fairies shook their heads again, clearly wanting her to forget the whole idea and just leave, but she knew she couldn't. She beckoned them over to her and whispered in the quietest voice she could manage, "Look, I know you don't want me to do it, but I have to try to get what I came for. You don't have to follow me — "

Bellon started squeaking her protests but Tooth silenced her with a look and said, "Shh. Pitch is in there!"

The little fairy nodded nervously and said no more.

"Listen, if you want to come then you can. I just don't want you to get hurt."

_No, _Bava said. _We're coming with._

After a hesitation, Bellon agreed. _Both of us._

Tooth nodded. "All right, very well. Just keep quiet and stay behind me. Remember, if I get captured, fly. Don't think about me, just fly away and tell Bri and Baby Tooth."

They nodded and Tooth peeked around the corner again. While she had been talking to her girls, a Nightmare had trotted into the throne room and was hesitantly waiting for Pitch to summon it. Tooth slunk back inside the tunnel as far as she could without losing sight of the Nightmare and Pitch. She was afraid the beast had seen her, but it made no move towards her.

Pitch's amber eyes opened when he heard the Nightmare enter, and, raising a spidery grey hand, beckoned for it to come closer. It did and bent its head down to Pitch's ear. Tooth watched in amazement as the creature seemed to speak to Pitch. Evidently, whatever the Nightmare had to say was not good. He recoiled as if the horse had offended him.

"What?" he snarled. "Even _she _has been taken captive?"

The Nightmare snorted a desperate protest, but Pitch was apparently not in the mood for mercy. With a snarl and a glare, Pitch caused the Nightmare to dissolve into nothing but loose black sand, which he summoned to his hand to form a long, jagged broadsword.

"Then I will have to take things into my own hands."

While this played out and Pitch was preoccupied, Tooth summoned the courage to slink out of the tunnel and towards a doorway behind and to the right of Pitch's throne. It was the doorway the Nightmare had come from and the only other doorway she could see. She kept her hands resting on the hilt of her swords as she sneaked past, but she needn't have bothered. Pitch just stood there, staring at the blade of the sword as if he could see the images of his victory dancing across the edge. The candlelight reflected off this blade and cast a watery light on the ceiling.

The nightmare sand whirling around Pitch, which made him look much more powerful than she imagined he was, wasn't much of a threat either. Until it was formed into sentient Nightmares by the one that controlled it, it probably had no consciousness and therefore could not see her or her fairies. Besides, if there were any more Nightmare guards they would be too terrified of their rage-ensnared master to watch out for sword-wielding fairies.

She ducked into the doorway and, when she was sure she had gotten through without giving herself away, Tooth leaned against the limestone wall and tried to slow her breath. It had been centuries since she had done these kinds of things and she was out of practice. She supposed that was what being _out _of the field for four hundred-odd years could do to her.

As she waited for her heart to stop pounding, Tooth felt a strange something niggling in the back of her mind. She blinked in confusion a couple times. What was it? Was one of her daughters trying to contact her?

She glanced at her two companions. They didn't look worried about anything — well, they both looked worried of course, but they weren't exactly acting like there was a Nightmare chasing their tail feathers. Frowning, Tooth turned back to the tunnel before her and wondered what the weird feeling was. Was she forgetting something? Were there more guards hiding in the shadows?

_Well, _she thought optimistically, placing her hands on the hilts of her swords, _if there are, I'll be ready._

As she walked forward — keeping low to the ground was a good idea for now, seeing as the number of stalactites on the ceiling was growing as she progressed and she didn't want to crash into an unseen one — that chafing, squirming feeling of forgetting something grew stronger and stronger. After a while, she had to stop. That feeling was really, really starting to freak her out and for a moment she wondered if it was more of Pitch's residual fear magic affecting her.

But that couldn't be it. It wouldn't be making her feel _that _way, like there was something that she'd left behind but couldn't remember if it was important or not. Reluctantly she took her hands off her swords and rubbed her arms, more from nerves than from cold. What on earth was it?

She had no answer, and after two reassuring and somewhat concerned glances from her girls, she continued. The feeling receded slightly as she tried to put her mind on other things, but in the back of her mind it was still there, pestering her, _You're forgetting something. You're forgetting something._

_It's just paranoia, _she dismissed. _Nothing is going to go wrong. I just have to be smart, silent, and quick._

It's amazing how wrong one fairy can be.

Somewhere along the way, a flash of an idea as to what the strange feeling might be flickered through Tooth's mind. "It's the teeth!" she whispered, quickening her pace. "And the boxes. They're calling to me!"

This would sound thoroughly crazy to anyone else if they had been listening, but not to Toothiana. She was the Tooth Fairy, after all. She had a connection to the memories of all the children of the world, hence she had a connection to the teeth. She could sense them somewhere in the lair, crying out to be returned to their rightful place, but it wasn't just the teeth that were calling to her.

In the tooth palace, the golden containers that housed the teeth were all made by hand. Hundreds of mini-fairies painted and finished each new box each day, but they never complained. They loved their job, as did Tooth. Every day, she made sure to pay a visit to the box-making center to add one touch to each of the boxes. It somehow felt right, whether it was a single activation tile or a special little carving on the gold filigree. She always put _something _on the boxes and it made her happy. And, as a dual purpose, it connected her to the boxes so that if any of them got lost, she could follow a trail to the teeth and find them easily. Her daughters could do the same thing. It hadn't helped much during the first battle in which Pitch stole _all _the boxes; Tooth had been weak back then because of the loss of her fairies. And of COURSE they'd be here in the lair; there wasn't much to find as she already knew where they were.

_So the pull of the teeth, _she reasoned as she continued, _and the pull of the boxes, both of which are connected to me. Well, no wonder I was getting that weird feeling. _The explanation for the strange feeling satisfied her and she allowed herself to be guided instinctively by the pull of the teeth. She had taken far too much time already and she needed to get out of there, and _soon._

The stronger the pull, the closer they were to the teeth, right? They were getting really close; the tug was less like being led by primal instinct and more like being drawn by a giant magnet. A magnet that attracted bird-women. But where, exactly, they were being drawn she had no idea. Their destination was _somewhere. _Let's specify: down this corridor, definitely. After that…

She emerged out of the corridor in question and into another one. Following her instincts, she and her two mini fairies went right, and down another hallway that just seemed to call to them. When they came out of this one, though, they found themselves in yet another corridor. But this one was different than the others. Lined up on one side were six simple wooden doors and on the other side, an equal six. All were closed, and when Tooth tried each one, they were also locked. She knew her fairies could pick the locks or even pass through the doors if it came to it, but that would take time that she didn't think she had. She'd come back if none of them were open. It was only when she came to the last door on the right side that she found that it was neither closed nor locked, at least, not all the way.

Tentatively, she pushed against the door, which had been left open just a crack. Inside it was very dark, but a small candle stub glowed in a silver holder on a desk in the corner. Tooth crept inside and closed the door behind her partially, because only an idiot would close a door behind them while in unknown territory. Tooth was no idiot.

The room was small, she saw, but not cramped. There was a twin-sized bed pushed up against the wall of the farthest corner, the desk in the other on which the candle rested, a gaping hole in the wall that she assumed was a closet though she could see nothing in it beyond the darkness, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf between the desk and the door. On a small table by the bed was a silver iHome and iPod from which raspy alt rock music was softly playing, which was odd because she saw no outlets in sight. A small, battered black notebook that looked like it had been carried through World War II rested on the bed alongside an eraser and a wooden pencil. The bookshelf was chock full with books, many of them large leather-bound volumes but quite a few of them small paperbacks. Tooth recognized many as mysteries and some as what children these days would call "classics" — _The Outsiders, Black Beauty, Peter Pan, _and _The Phantom Tollbooth _were among them.

Tooth scanned the room for anyone, but she saw no movement except for the freaky shadows that continued to writhe and squirm like living beings. She shivered and ventured into the room. The candle obviously meant that someone had been here recently, so she would have to search quickly and leave. At least one of the tooth boxes was here, she just knew it. She could feel it.

The feeling inside of her swelled and pulsated. Without entirely knowing why, she turned towards the bed and peered at the intricately carved headboard. It was made of dark wood that was an unnatural greyish, almost black shade, and decorated with gargoyles and other patterns of that cheerful sort. It didn't match the normal, depressingly plain theme of the room at all. But then she caught something in the carvings that just seemed to call out to her.

She balanced on the mattress and pushed aside the pillow to study it closer. Running along the borders of the headboard was a distinctive design, a simple half cylinder pattern along the edge, with small rings encircling them at even intervals. One section of this pattern stood out to Tooth. It was near the bottom and cleverly colored the same greyish-black as the wood around it, but somehow she knew. There was a pulsing, swirling mass of energy inside it, like an invisible barrier of dark magic to keep it locked from anyone who found it. Of course it would be hidden here — it would be the last place she would look.

Her theories were confirmed when she dug her fingers around it and managed to yank it off. It had been colored to hide its true nature, yes, but Pitch hadn't disguised the concave side where the activation tiles glittered iridescent in the dim light. The face of a child smiled at her from the end. This was a tooth box.

"Who are you?"

The sudden voice startled Tooth out of her awe and she leaped up, drawing her sword out of its sheath. A thin, shadowy figure stood in the open doorway, silhouetted by the dim light behind him. She could make out little — just a hood, bare feet, and a long, straight, staff-like thing in one hand. For a naïve moment she thought it was Jack, just messing around with her, but that moment passed and the boy still stood there, waiting for her to make the first move.

Tooth didn't even have to ponder to be able to put the pieces together. She knew who this was, and he wasn't Jack. It was the one detail that the nagging feeling had been trying to warn her of earlier. It wasn't the teeth she was feeling, it was her subconscious trying to remind her of the twelfth Nightmare Child, the one they had forgotten.

Unknown, wasn't he called? It was a fitting name, then. How had she forgotten? _How _could she have overlooked such a ridiculously important detail? Well, it wasn't exactly like this kid was one that would be remembered. For all she knew, he could have some special power that made people forget about him, make him become unknown to them — it would make sense, wouldn't it? Then again, there had been so many restless and constantly moving people in the cramped space of Cell One that it wasn't exactly easy to count for all twelve. Still, it was unbelievably stupid of her to have forgotten and now she was probably going to pay the price.

Tooth and Unknown stood in this silent crossroads, she gripping her sword, he just standing there, until Unknown shrugged dismissively and sauntered over to his desk. He held a green and silver aluminum can in his hand — Diet Mountain Dew? — which he sipped once before setting it down on his desk. Tooth watched his every move. He moved kind of stiffly, like he was sore from a workout, though he tried to act casual. He wasn't attacking; he wasn't running; he wasn't calling for help; he wasn't even showing any signs that he knew she was there.

If he hadn't asked "who are you" upon arrival, she would have wondered if he actually did know she was there.

Unknown sank into the swivel chair at his desk with that long silver quarterstaff balanced over his thin shoulder. His sweatshirt hood was still up, hiding the top of his face in deep shadow. He glanced at Tooth — or appeared to, seeing as his eyes were also hidden — and then asked flatly, "Done staring?"

Tooth cocked her head. Her fairies were watching wide-eyed from behind her cloak, and Unknown smirked when he saw them. "No," she replied, her voice almost a whisper. "Who are you?" She knew the answer, but she wanted to see what his response would be.

He shrugged again, reached for his Mountain Dew, and took another sip. "Unknown. You?"

She didn't know how to reply. The boy wasn't running or screaming or attacking _yet,_ but when she told him who she was, she was sure that he would. Maybe she could tell him, and then make a break for it. But what good would that do? She was holding a tooth box that was no good to anyone except to the one who was sitting right in front of her, casually drinking a soda as if he found armed bird-women in his room every day.

"Look," she said. "You're a son of Pitch, right?"

He shrugged listlessly, which seemed to be one of his favorite gestures, and turned his head to look at her. "What's that you're holding?"

Confused, Tooth raised an eyebrow. "You've been trained to kill immortals your entire life," she said slowly, "and you can't recognize a — "

"Not the sword," he interrupted. "That." He raised his arm and pointed at the tooth box.

She was taken aback by this request, but she knew that she couldn't show it. Not yet, at least. It would be easier to just reveal the entire thing all at once, to all of the Nightmare Children. The next question, however, shattered this weak resolve.

"Did you take that off my bed?" Tooth couldn't see his face but she swore he was raising an eyebrow.

She nodded and answered before she could stop herself. "Yeah, I did."

"Why?"

He said it with such innocent frankness that she couldn't stop herself from answering honestly. "There are teeth inside this container that hold your memories, if this is your room, Unknown. These teeth will tell you who you are."

He cocked his head slightly to the left. "But…I know who I am," he said quietly. "I am Unknown Black, the Last Nightmare Child."

"No," Tooth said, fluttering forward and resting on the end of the bed, close to the boy. "You're not. You're a normal teenager who was given powers by Pitch, who stole you away from your life and wiped your memories."

He said nothing, so she decided to push on.

"He did this with all your siblings, who aren't even related to you, and then he trained you as super-soldiers to fight his battles because he's a coward who hides behind _children!" _Tooth knew the levels her voice was reaching, but she didn't care. Saying it aloud for the first time had awakened an inferno of rage inside her and she could barely control herself. Be damned Pitch and his Nightmares! Anger gave strength, right? Well, she had enough strength right now to kick Pitch all the way into the next millennium!

The boy continued staring at her — or, at least, appeared to. The hood still hid his eyes in deep shadow and Tooth resisted the impulse to flick it back. She wanted to see his eyes — to see if he actually believed her. She knew a lot about teeth, but looking into a child's eyes could tell you more memories than you'd think.

Finally, after many long, uncomfortable seconds, he opened his mouth and said, "Queen Toothiana."

His surprisingly young voice was so flat, so devoid of emotion that she took a step back. Her breath hitched in her throat and her hand tightened around her sword handle. Of course he knew; what good was there in trying to hide it? Pitch would have given him and every other Nightmare Child a detailed description of each of the Guardians for the attack, and during the battle he'd probably seen her and Pain chatting about her angsty background as they wielded sharp objects.

"Guardian of memories," continued Unknown in the same empty, hollow tone. "The Third Guardian, the conqueror of the Monkey King. Known for her affinity for teeth, her fierce warrior-daughters, and her benevolence towards young children, of course."

Well, it was only to be expected that he would know her job, but how did he know about the Monkey King? He was the man who had tried to kill her mother and father before she had even been born and had been cursed with the face of a monkey and the heart of a man in return. He was long dead; the Guardians probably didn't even remember him anymore. And since he had been only a minor henchman of Pitch's, just another pawn, she didn't think that even the Nightmare King himself would fill in that detail.

"How do you know about him?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as steady and monotoned as his but failing horribly when she saw that the indifferent smirk was back.

"I read a lot." For a split second, Tooth was reminded of Pitch in the languid yet somehow bitter casualness of his voice. "I'm often alone. All the time, actually, and I have to find some way to pass the time. So I read."

He gestured lazily around the room. "You are correct in your assumption that this is my room and, if I were to believe you, which I definitely don't, that thing in your hand is the key to unlocking my memories, instead of just a harmless chunk of wood."

Tooth frowned. It sounded as if this was the most he had spoken to anyone. His voice had gone scratchy and dry and he paused to take a sip of his Mountain Dew, during which she decided to speak.

"Unknown," she said, trying to sound comforting, "I understand that life's been hard for you here and I know you've been taught to hate us Guardians, but we aren't bad. Pitch — "

"No. You _don't _understand." He slammed the can down on his desk, making a cup of pens rattle. She couldn't see his glare but she could literally feel it burning a hole in her forehead. "You don't understand at all."

She had to admit that she had jumped a bit when he'd slammed the can down, but she wouldn't admit it aloud. Her voice took on a steely, stern tone. "Oh?" She raised an eyebrow and mimicked his smirk, which was now completely gone. "Then enlighten me. Pitch is leaving to rescue your 'siblings', so we'll be the only ones here for a long time until he comes skulking back, weak and beaten. You can tell me all about your life here, Unknown, and then I can tell you about your _real _life."

Unknown lowered his head. "But…this is my real life," he said, the invisible glare gone as fast as it had appeared.

The defeat in his voice was heartbreaking. "No. No, it's not," she said, subconsciously reverting back to the kind motherly woman she had been when she'd seen Suffering. "You had a life, but Pitch _stole _it from you." Then she remembered just what kind of lives the children had had and hence resolved to keep her mouth shut on the subject. Honestly, even _she _didn't know what was better anymore — a life like that, or a life like…this.

At least in their past lives they had a chance, she realized.

"All right, all right, maybe your life might have not have been the best," she backtracked, "but you had a _chance. _Pitch brought you here and forced his magic into your body, knowing full well that you could die from it and that you'd be bound to him forever. At least back then, you had a chance to make your own choices, build your own future."

She waited a very long time for him to respond.

After said long, long time, Unknown finally raised his head and spoke. "You really have them? In that box?" His voice was so quiet that she could barely hear him.

She nodded, holding them out. "Take a look. You can see for yourself and then you'll know I'm telling the truth."

He hesitated, then he stretched out his arm to accept the tooth box.

Relief and victory burned bright in Tooth's chest as she saw the revelation dawning on his face. She had broken through to this last Nightmare Child. If she could make Unknown believe, then maybe, maybe she could get the others to believe.

His thin hand closed around the tooth container and she let him take it. "There. Now you can — "

But before Tooth could even raise her sword in defense, Unknown was at work, and the weighted end of his quarterstaff crashed into her forehead. Her eyes went crossed and she only had time to choke out "RUN!" before she fell to the ground, out cold.

The mini-fairies were frozen in shock. One second everything was going well, the next their mother had collapsed on the floor. By the time they did shake themselves out of their stupor, they were already trapped inside Unknown's empty soda can. He would have to poke tiny holes in it or put them in a different jar later, but he couldn't think about that now. Now he needed to focus on what he was going to do about the unconscious fairy-woman in his room.

The two mini-fairies squeaked and shrieked in protest, banging on the walls of their aluminum prison, but Unknown knew he couldn't release them. His father would know that Toothiana would never have come alone and would probably see right through any pathetic lie he might be able to think up.

The boy sighed shakily and set the can on his desk. The pounding continued — he didn't think they'd let up any time soon — and now they were making a strange squeaking sound that might have been their language, but any protests were lost seeing as he couldn't understand them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, putting a heavy book over the can to make sure they wouldn't get out. "I have to."

The fairies kept squealing desperately, but he just turned his back on them to contemplate the fairies' mother, lying oh so still on the cold stone floor with her swords beside her and the shock of betrayal written even on her sleeping face. He couldn't help but glance down at the tooth box in his hand and think of her eyes — he could see the sincerity in them. A sincerity unlike any other, even in Pitch's eyes.

But all Pitch had wanted of them was for them to make him proud, and he wanted to do it. He really, really did. He didn't want to be a nobody anymore and knew he could prove them all wrong, if he just tried hard enough. Even if he had to turn this woman and her mini fairies in, even if he had to kill them himself, even if what it took was running headfirst into the Pole and slaughtering every last Guardian, then he'd do it if it meant the approval of his father.

Right?

"I'm sorry," he said again before melting into the shadows and traveling to his father's throne room.

XxXxX

_**EDIT: 11/5/14**_

_**FOR THOSE OF YOU SEEING THIS FOR THE FIRST TIME.**_

_**I JUST GOT IN A BIT OF TROUBLE WITH CRITICS UNITED. AGAIN. BUT THIS TIME I HONESTLY HAD NO IDEA WHAT I WAS DOING WAS "INTERACTIVE". **_

_**BUT.**_

_**LONG STORY SHORT.**_

_**I AM UPDATING FROM MY PHONE NOW BECAUSE THEIR DRASTIC ACTIONS HAVE FORCED ME TO RETREAT. NO MORE GRQs. END OF STORY. I GOTTA GO. **_

_**I ALSO MAY NOT BE BACK FOR A WHILE CUZ MY COMPUTER CRASHED AND I HATE UPDATING FROM MY PHONE.**_

_**SORRY.**_

**XXXXXXXXX**

**PLEASE PAY ATTENTION HERE.**

**So a lot of you have been asking about the other NCs, how they're really hard to remember. If your curiosity is piqued at this, please check out the poll in my profile (to reduce chances of being seen as a "review farmer") and click the options that you think you'd like best.**

**Thanks guys! You're the best. :)**

**BROFIST**


	10. INTERMISSION: THE 12 FEARS OF CHRISTMAS

**A/N: Hey guys! Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, happy New Year's, happy Kwanzaa, and all those other amazing holidays that I might be forgetting because I'm running purely off sugar and caffeine as I write this! XD  
><strong>

**Out-of-timeline holiday gift for y'all, just to repay for that horrible mess I made with CU and my *coughs* obvious lack of attention given to this site...**

**Well.**

**I...uh...had a lot of fun making this. And then, on the other hand, I really didn't. Lemme tell ya, the 12 days of Christmas is literally the most stressful song to play on the piano. Like, ever. Because the second you play the opening riff then you've got crazy little sibs singing along with the Twelve Pains of Christmas and you can't stop laughing, and then you lose count and yell one of your creative replacement swears like "Oh for the bangling love of sweet nooksniffing turdwipes" and you have to start over.  
><strong>

_**ANYWAY. **_**I kinda got this idea from Kylee Henke's Homestuck thing "Twelve Trolls of Christmas" so if you're a Homestuck, I advise you to really check it out if you haven't heard it already. If you're not a Homestuck, and you're ok with a bit of swearing, I still advise you to check it out. **

**Ramblings over, here's your intermission.**

* * *

><p>Pitch Black woke up on Christmas morning because he heard silence.<p>

Yes, you read that right.

Over nearly ten years of waking up to kids screaming about breakfast cereal, television shows, and who knew how to make pancakes correctly without setting the entire kitchen on fire, Pitch had developed the innate ability to sleep through pretty much anything that the kids could dish out. As they'd gotten older and subsequently more violent, this included duels to the death, wifi outages and subsequent uprisings, and the occasional magical explosion. Which he wasn't all too worried about, because these kids could take care of themselves. This was a habit he didn't particularly like because Pitch liked to be on his feet and aware of everything around him, but he reassured himself that if something really, really, REALLY bad happened, his nightmares would warn him.

But today, the day he'd expected to wake up to "MERRY CHRISTMAS, TURDHOLES, HAVE SOME WATER BALLOONS TO THE** FACE**" and seeing the entire lair TP-ed, he awoke to perfect, dead silence.

It was in fact the _lack _of noise that had pulled him from slumber — and it was the aforementioned lack that most alarmed him. His first thought was that Solitude had lost it again; sometimes when the kid was feeling particularly over-socialized he would use that sleeping spell and put everyone in the lair under, but that didn't make sense because Pitch was awake, and he was the one who got hit by that spell the hardest. Sleeping spells worked awfully well on spirits.

And so, preparing himself for the worst, the Boogeyman got out of bed, slipped on his Dastardly Shadow Slippers (never bunny slippers, darkness forbid; didn't want Frost spreading any more rumors about the Nightmare King's weird fetishes), and strode out of his bedroom to find what in the name of darkness happened to his kids this Christmas morning.

* * *

><p>It took less time than he thought, and it turned out to be Shame.<p>

Pitch had checked the kitchen first, then their bedrooms. No sign of any Nightmare Child anywhere, but he hadn't exactly expected that. The only real thing weird, he thought, was that Death's piano was gone. A few years ago, Loss and Danger had looted a secondhand store and brought back a truckload of stuff, among which was a small upright box piano. Pitch had made them bring most of the stuff back but somehow, the piano had stayed and migrated into Death's room. No one ever really saw him play it but sometimes they'd hear the music — creepy part was, whenever they looked into his room, the music would stop and Death would be nowhere to be seen. Seriously, there was something wrong with that kid, Pitch couldn't help but muse to himself — and something even _wronger _with the fact that someone had taken the piano along with his kids.

Finally, he checked the throne room. He really doubted that he'd find anything, but the second he stepped in, he heard the shuffling of people moving, and whispers. Kids' whispers. Oh, gods.

"Children?" he called sternly. "Get out here. I don't know what you're pulling, but you'll stop it right now or NONE of you are getting dessert for the rest of the month."

The shuffling sounds stopped. Pitch folded his arms and began tapping his foot.

That was when he heard the piano, playing the two-measure intro to Pitch's least favorite song.

* * *

><p>A beam of light shot out of nowhere, briefly blinding Pitch's eyes. Through the dancing green afterlights in his vision, he could see the figure of a girl in the spotlight, in the center of what seemed to be a makeshift stage, sitting on the top of the box piano with her legs crossed. She wore long black leather boots and a fluffy, sparkly black dress that had white fur along the wrists, hem, and collar like North's stupid coat. Her long, smooth silver hair was carefully curled and shone brightly in the spotlight, and dazzling makeup graced her face. She held an over-sparkly microphone in her carefully manicured hands.<p>

"On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me," Shame began to sing in a high voice that actually sounded really, really good, "a Nightmare tangled in a tree!"

She smiled dazzlingly at her dad. The piano accompaniment kept going as another spotlight flashed onto the player — Death, who was dressed in a sharp black suit and tie with his hair still a bedheaded mess and whose legs were literally tied to the piano bench. He gave a look of pure hatred towards Shame as he, too, began to sing as he played the accompaniment.

"On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me," he sighed — and about now was when Pitch began to wonder exactly how many of his kids were musically gifted, because not only was Death's piano playing really good, but that baritone, wow, "two pianos..."

Shame finished it off with another dazzling smile: "And a Nightmare tangled in a tree!"

Pitch realized that this might take a while.

Another spotlight flashed on, illuminating Loss, who stood at the corner of the makeshift stage in her typical black leather jumpsuit, but now with a black Santa Clause hat on her head. "On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me," (and Pitch decided that no, not all of his kids were good singers) "three ninja stars!"

"Two pianos," Death put in, still not that enthusiastic.

"And a Nightmare tangled in a tree!" Another dazzling smile from Shame. Pitch was beginning to wonder if there was a camera somewhere.

Yet another spotlight, on the other side of the stage. Dark yelped, then composed himself and began singing opera-style, even though he, too, wasn't that gifted in the vocal department.

"On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...four dead lightbulbs — "

"What?" Death said, confused, but never faltering in his playing. He didn't get an answer.

"Three ninja stars," Loss sang.

"Two...pianos..."

"And a Nightmare tangled in a tree — go Danger!"

Another spotlight flashed on, except this one wasn't directed at the ground. It focused on a cliff near the ceiling, where Danger came strutting out and stood at the edge like she was about to lift up a baby lion and start singing that one Disney song that no one really knows the words to and basically makes them up the entire way.

"On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me..." The girl took a deep breath and belted with the most stunning soprano's vibrato that Pitch had probably ever heard:

"FIIIIIVE BUNGEE COOOOOOOOOORDS!"

Dark looked a bit bummed out that he couldn't sing like that but he kept it going. "Four dead lightbulbs..."

"Three ninja stars..."

"Two pianos..."

"And a Nightmare tangled in a tree!"

When the next spotlight came on, it also went up to the ceiling. Wrath was sitting inside of one of Pitch's old cages, which had last been used to hold tooth fairies. He was leaning against the side and sharpening a knife.

"On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me," and using the verb "sang" would be hyperbole for the flat, furious melody that was barely forced out between the boy's gritted teeth, "six shrunken heads..."

(Only then did Death's hands trip and the piano made a noise like some dying animal before he regained his place.)

" — FIIIIIVE THROWING KNIIIIIIIIIIVES!"

"Four dead lightbulbs..."

"Three ninja stars..."

"I'm getting scared..."

"And a Nightmare tangled in a tree!"

A seventh spotlight followed Pain as she strutted out from the shadows onto the stage and sat down on its edge, making sure to flip her hair for whatever cameras Pitch was sure were hiding somewhere. "On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me," she sang in a resonant, surprisingly deep voice — still, nothing could prepare anyone for her next surprise, the choice in object: "Seven cans of soda..."

" — OH NO YOU DON'T," Wrath growled, obviously aware of the consequences if anyone gave his sister _seven _cans of pure sugar and caffeine, but no one was listening to him.

"FIIIIIVE PAINTBALL GUUUUUUUUUUNS!"

"Four dead lightbulbs..."

"Three ninja stars..."

"Two pianos..."

"And a Nightmare tangled in a tree! Now, Sol!"

On the opposite side of the room, a decrepit-looking figure in pajamas, curled up at the bottom of another tooth fairy cage, raised his head. He looked like he had completely lost the will to live, and when he spoke, he sounded like it too.

"On the eighth day of Twelfth-Perigee my matesprit gave to me...eight spiders spinning..."

"Huh?" Loss frowned, but Solitude's new variation on the song was never explained and this question would linger for years to come.

"Seven cans of soda," continued Pain, never missing a beat, though as predicted, Wrath cut in again this time with "NO PAIN, YOU MAY _NOT"_

" — FIIIIIIIIIIVE CHOCOLATE EEEEEEEEEEGGS!"

"Four dead lightbulbs..."

"Three ninja stars..."

"Two pianos..."

"And a Nightmare tangled in a tree!"

The spotlight came on over Suffering, still in her footie pajamas, standing forlornly in the middle of the stage. Clearing her throat, she half-whispered into her microphone, her voice actually quite sweet:

"On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...nine good dreams..."

Pitch bristled. This girl could be such a rebel.

"Um, I finished, can I go?" Solitude murmured timidly, but no one answered him.

"Seven cans of soda..."

"NO ONE'S HAVING SODA"

" — FIIIIIIIIIIVE SKATEBOARD WHEEEEEEEEEEELS!"

"Four dead lightbulbs..."

"Three ninja stars..."

"Skateboards...only need four wheels..."

"And a Nightmare tangled in a tree!"

Judgment strutted out onto the stage, fully decked out in a pressed brown suit, his glasses (he only wore them instead of his contacts when he wanted to look fashionable, though by what standards he judged "fashionable" was beyond Pitch), and even a pocketwatch hanging out of his pocket.

"On the _tenth _day of Christmas my true love gave to me," he bellowed with both admirable and embarrassing levels of pomp, "ten jury members..."

"Nine good dreams," with a nasty wink at her father, who was already brewing up the punishments Suffering would get for dabbling in the light arts as her rebellious side was so prone to doing.

Solitude sounded like he was about to cry. "...please just let me leave..."

"Seven cans of soda..."

"DID YOU HEAR ME I SAID NO"

"WRATH WILL YOU SHUT UUUUUUUUUUP?!"

"FOUR DEAD LIGHTBULBS"

"WHY'RE WE YELLING"

"WE'RE ALL GOING MAD"

"And a Nightmare tangled in a tree! Tempest, your turn!"

The piano accompaniment shifted up one key as the girl sailed down from a ledge and landed at the front of the stage, dressed in a fancy dark blue dress, grinning maniacally, and throwing her arms back like a thunderstorm-themed Elsa.

"On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to MEEEEEEE..."

No. Scratch that. At least Elsa knew how to sing.

" — eleven shiny arrows!"

"Ten j — or...how many are there normally?"

"Nine...good dreams..."

"...GUYS I HATE YOU ALL"

"Seven cans of soda — "

"PAIN I HAVE A KNIFE"

"I THINK YOU ALL SUUUUUUUUUUCK! XOOOOO"

"Four dead lightbulbs"

"Danger, oh my gods"

"Two...pianos..."

"And a Nightmare tangled in a tree! C'mon, one more guys!"

Again the piano accompaniment shifted up a key, and Death's playing become more and more forceful. He added a trill, just for fun and for drama, as the last Nightmare Child stepped timidly out of the shadows, still clad in his overlarge white pajamas, holding a microphone close to his mouth as if wishing he could disappear behind it.

"On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me," (and this was the day everyone learned that Unknown's singing voice was literally the most beautiful mezzo-soprano ever found in a boy and bore an unnerving resemblance to Utatane Piko's) "twelve bars of chocolate..."

Tempest whirled around. "Hey, that's not fair! I want chocolate!"

Meanwhile, Judgment had still been muttering to himself. "But in Supreme Court there are twenty-four jury members..."

Suffering went over and punched her crazy justice-obsessed brother. "Shame, you're a moron," she yelled to the instigator.

Solitude had begun to cry.

Pain stood up and strode over to Wrath's cage, placing her hands on her hips. "I'll fight you for it, nerd."

Wrath stood up, his spiked-up hair barely brushing the prison ceiling. "Oh yeah? Bring it on, sis."

Pitch wasn't really sure what happened next but what he could make out was Pain throwing herself at the cage, crashing metal, Pain somehow yanking Wrath out of the prison by his heel, more Solitude crying, an explosion, and Danger screaming at the top of her lungs:

"SCREW YOU ALL I QUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"

"Four...uh, what'd I have to say?" Dark somehow forgot the eight times he'd said "dead lightbulbs".

Loss facepalmed. "Look, I'm freaking done."

Death slammed down the last couple chords, then pounded both hands down into another "dying-animal" scream. "Shame, you'll _so _regret this..."

But he turned back to the keys for the finale, and not a single singer left him or herself out of the last line.

_**"AND A NIGHTMARE TANGLED IN A TREEEEEEEEEEEE."**_

* * *

><p>(bonus)<p>

And in the ensuing silence, Unknown asked, "...am I allowed to disown you all?"

"I'M FREEEEEEEE," Solitude's voice echoed off the walls as he barreled down the corridors towards the isolation of his bedroom.

Everyone present could hear the slam of the door.


	11. Ghost

**Well. This is really, really late.  
><strong>

**I haven't been feeling all too great lately, health-wise, life-wise, writing-wise, et cetera, so I guess I'll just post now before my confidence plummets again and I get that impulse again to delete everything on my computer. :/**

**I added this first section because I kinda wanted to explore ****_exactly _****how Pitch talks with Unknown, and their reactions, and stuff. Might also lend a hand later on, when their relationship gets…choppy.**

**That was such a bad pun, I am so sorry.**

**ALSO: THANKS TO CANDYCANELILA FOR THE 100TH REVIEW.**

* * *

><p>As Unknown stepped out of the shadows, the tooth box bit into his skin.<p>

He'd been gripping it and his staff so hard that his knuckles were a few shades whiter, and that one of the edges made an impression in the palm of his hand. Fingers trembling, he uncurled his fingers, let his staff rest in the crook of his arm and let the little cylinder fall into his free hand. He couldn't see much from where he stood in the deepest shadows, but running his fingertips across the surface he could feel small diamond-shaped tiles under crusted paint and small carvings in the metal filigree. It was beautiful, he knew even without being able to see it — someone had taken painful care in crafting it, making everything symmetrical, putting every little thing in its place. This thing, he knew instantly, had been built for someone that the crafter loved dearly…

"Unknown?"

The voice of his father startled him so much that Unknown jumped, nearly dropping the cylinder. Pitch Black stood less than five paces away from him, arms folded across his chest and holding that '_what do you even THINK you're doing' _look that all parents are so adept with. How he'd gotten there without a sound was a mystery that'd never be solved — parents also all seemed to have that talent of showing up exactly when you didn't want them to, especially if your parent was the Boogeyman.

"What are you doing? I told you to stay in your room." Father's condemnatory gaze flicked over him, seemingly scanning for any signs of fear. He probably was, too.

"I…" Unknown could feel his heart beginning to race, though he didn't know why. He'd just done something great. He'd captured the Tooth Fairy, that was a good thing, wasn't it? Why was he scared?

"What's that?" Pitch cut in, with a flare of something that didn't quite feel like fear, just…paranoia. Before Unknown could react, Pitch lashed out and snatched the tooth box right out of his hands, staring at it in shock. "Where did you get this?"

His voice was barely a hiss; his shoulders set stiffly. And Unknown knew if he didn't talk fast, he was going to be in bigger trouble than he already was in now.

"The Tooth Fairy," he forced out, "the Tooth Fairy's — in my bedroom, she came and tried to give me that, but I…I knocked her out. I made sure of it. She's still in there now and I captured her fairies, and I came here to tell you that — "

"What did she tell you?"

At this, Unknown faltered, even though Father's voice was quieter and softer than he'd ever heard before. He could only barely meet his father's piercing gaze without feeling like he was going to throw up — he never could really, that's why he never really talked to him before. But now, when everything was on the line, it was worse than anything he'd ever felt before.

"She…she told me I'm not really a Nightmare Child, and that the Guardians aren't bad, and that I was taken to — fight them, just that, and…I'm not really your son," finished Unknown, tapering off weakly. Staring up at the man he called father, he felt so small, so weak — not like how he thought he would. He didn't look proud of him at all. It wasn't just because Unknown had been caught unprepared, before he had the heroic speech of capture he'd wanted to give. It was just…the truth, maybe. Maybe Father wasn't proud of him, and would never be.

And that's when Unknown started to wonder if maybe, maybe, Tooth was right.

Meanwhile, Pitch just stared at the tooth box, occasionally shifting his gaze down to his last child. With every time he met Unknown's eyes, the boy could feel himself somehow shrinking smaller and smaller. "I…I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do so I just…hit her, and she's still unconscious, I know she is…"

"No." Father stood to his full height, which wasn't really necessary as Unknown would still remain nearly two feet shorter than him anyway. He lifted his hand, took an awkward breath in, and touched the top of the boy's head in a sort of uncomfortable pat of appreciation, he supposed. "You did the right thing, Unknown. For once," he added, probably not entirely on purpose, but it still stung a bit. Just a bit, and it did take away somewhat from the warm sense of pride, not much though.

"Now…er…" The Nightmare King glanced around, still looking a bit uncomfortable. He always acted strange like this with him, Unknown thought curiously to himself. Well, it was just to be expected, the lonely Boogeyman actually having a chance to talk one-on-one with not just a child, but his own child. _Maybe,_ a little voice inside Unknown's voice added, but he shook it away. He decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and waited patiently for Father to continue.

Pitch met his gaze like he'd just dropped out of the sky with underwear on his head (a simile that Solitude had used like once but for whatever reason Unknown really liked), then shook his head quickly. "Stop that," he snapped. "It's annoying, I don't like it."

Unknown didn't know what he was talking about. "Wh…what?"

"Stop…stop looking at me like that!" Sharply Father turned away, fists clenched at his sides. "What, did I never teach you it's impolite to stare?"

He hadn't. And now that Unknown thought of it, he realized he'd never taught him anything, really. He'd just kind of…left him and the other kids on their own, most of the time. Unknown hesitantly shook his head, fearing some kind of rebuke for it but not enough to lie.

"Well — I — " Pitch tapered off, with a look on his face like he'd just swallowed his chewing gum. "Oh, forget it!" he finally snapped as he stomped away. "Just go to your room, and I'll take care of the fairy."

"But the fairy is in my room," he replied.

The swallowed-his-chewing-gum look was back and Pitch's cheeks started going red. "Oh. Uh. Yes…I…suppose you're right. Uh…in that case…I will take care of the fairy, and then you'll stay in your room until I have secured her."

Unknown nodded obediently, and with that followed his father to where the fairy slept.

XXXXXXXXX

When Tooth awoke, she found heavy black shackles around her wrists and ankles and a splitting headache under her skull. Alarmed, she shot up, but the chains kept her from moving more than a few feet away from the cold iron bench inside her prison. Because that was, in fact, where she was — a prison. The walls were of dark grey stone, and the iron bars that cut her off from the dim hallway were infused with nightmare sand. As were the shackles, so any magic that she would have been able to cast — even if she had had any, because contrary to common belief, the Tooth Fairy had very little magic extending beyond tooth boxes and telepathy with her smaller entities — would have instantly been rendered useless.

The cell was tiny, only about two paces long and two wide, and it was very, very dark. The only light came from small cracks in the stone ceiling, and it was impossible to tell where that came from. In the cool, damp air, there was the distinct stench of death and other things that she did not wish to inquire further of the origins. Tooth shivered to think of what poor creatures might have been imprisoned in these cells, and for how long.

When the initial panic resided and her headache faded to little more than a dull throb, Tooth started to think. Her fairies were nowhere to be seen. Her weapons and equipment were gone. She saw no guards, but who would need them this far underground? Where that meager amount of light — probably not sunlight — was coming from she did not know, though she suspected that it was for her benefit only. Her tiny cell was empty except for the uncomfortable iron bench that served as a bed and a slimy metal bucket nearby. Tooth stared in disgust at the bucket before turning away.

She was more than glad that she didn't need to use it. After all, she was an immortal, and immortals could go literally years without food, sleep, going to the bathroom, or any of those other physical needs that human bodies were constantly pestered by. For a moment she wondered if she could twist the wire handle off of the bucket and use it to pick the locks of her chains, but then she realized two very valid points — one, she did not know how to pick locks, and two, her shackles had no keyholes. There was some kind of magical combination in the chains that kept them closed.

Tooth's muscles tensed up when she heard the clattering of hooves against the stone floor. The elongating, approaching shadows told her who it was — who else? — and with his mere presence the scanty bit of light dimmed significantly. But it remained enough for Tooth to see, and when he came to a stop in front of her cell, she could clearly see the grey face of Pitch Black.

He smiled coldly, his eyes flashing with amusement. And to think she'd felt _pity_ for him. "Hello, little bird," he mocked in a singsong voice. "How are you finding your cage? Your predecessors thought it was quite nice. In fact, they loved it so much…they never left."

The two Nightmares flanking him whinnied and stomped their hooves as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Tooth's fists clenched. "Can it, Pitch!" she snapped. "Let me out of here now, and I might leave you one tooth to chew with later."

That icy smile just grew larger and colder. "Now now, Toothiana, there's no need for unpleasantness."

"Yeah, you're right. This cell is unpleasant enough for the both of us. Why don't you come in and see for yourself?" Two could play these mind-games. She bared her sparkling, very sharp teeth. Even in the gloom, Pitch saw their malicious shine and took a step back. Something about that grin made him less cocky than when he'd first arrived.

"I think not," he said, trying to retain his previous bored, unfazed expression but failing miserably.

"Then just get to the point, please." Tooth took on the languid, somewhat impatient tone that Bunny often used when Jack was rambling about nothing. "I have other, more important things to do. More intelligent conversations to have."

Her voice was so even that it was impossible to tell if it was sarcasm, an insult, or maybe just blustering. Maybe all three. He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Oh, really?"

"Yes. I have an appointment to bite my nails in five minutes and I thought I'd ask that bucket about the weather."

Pitch inwardly grimaced. Okay, maybe he'd walked right into that one. True, he wasn't the formidable Nightmare King he'd been before, but he was still powerful and wise enough to know that he couldn't win this one. She hated him too much and would just keep the smart remarks coming.

"Enough with such trivial things and on to the important topics," he said a bit too quickly, trying to smooth out that mistake.

Tooth considered his words, then nodded. "Yeah, you're right. So, Bucket, it's getting rather chilly down here, don't you think?"

"Toothiana, I will ask you one time and one time only," Pitch growled as his already-depleted reserve of patience started running on empty. "What were you doing in my lair?"

Tooth smiled charmingly and answered, "Well, I was thinking about moving in. You know, that palace in the mountains is so cheery and shiny that it makes my eyes water, and with this kind of headache from where your creepy kid knocked me out — man, do you have any idea what intense light does for headaches? Really. So, you know, I figured a dark, quiet hole in the ground would be the perfect thing for me." Inside, she was wondered where on earth this cavalier attitude had come from. A few hours ago, or however long it had been since she had first entered the lair, she'd been nearly scared out of her wits. Now she was acting like a completely different person. More like the woman she'd been in her younger days.

_Must be the influence of hanging out with Danger, _she dismissed.

Pitch blinked, thrown off by the bright smile and jovial tone. "Really?"

Her smile vanished into a dubious glare. "No."

Pitch's lip curled in a sneer. "Ah. A joke. So unlike you, Toothiana."

"Hey, I can joke!" Tooth objected, a bit affronted. "There's a really funny one about a fairy and the Boogeyman's teeth that I know. Wanna hear it?" Okay, now she was just scaring herself. What the heck was happening to her?! She was goading the King of Nightmares, and though she knew there would be repercussions to this, the defiant, devious part of her didn't seem to care. In fact, she was actually having…fun.

Pitch, however, didn't seem at all fazed by her sudden change of behavior and smiled, revealing those nasty yellow teeth. "Could it possibly have to do with…this?" he inquired smoothly, reaching into an unseen pocket inside his robe and pulling out a small half-cylinder. Tooth involuntarily gasped and her sarcastic demeanor slipped for a second when she saw Unknown's tooth box in Pitch's grey hand, scrubbed of all paint and restored to its former golden beauty.

"Ah," said Pitch, noting her uncontrolled exclamation. "So you did come for these. Excellent. I have all twelve, polished and ready for you."

Tooth stared at the tooth box, then her gaze shifted and she glared up at the Nightmare King. "Let me guess. You're going to give me to the Guardians in return for your soldiers?"

"Quite correct. Your Guardians have eleven of my children, and I have you. If they give me back my children safely, you're free to go."

"They're not your children," said Tooth contemptuously. "Puppets, maybe. Or slaves."

Pitch waved it off. "Whatever. The point is, little _bird,_ that when you go, if the Guardians agree to the trade, you have a choice. A choice of bringing back the twelve tooth boxes…" Here he reached into his cloak — seriously, how did he fit all that stuff in a robe that was _skin-tight?!_ — and brought out a large glass jar, sealed shut with a lid poked with tiny airholes. "…Or you could bring back your fairies."

Tooth gasped and tried to fly towards her imprisoned fairies, but the chains yanked her back. The three little fairies inside the jar squealed in panic and banged against the glass jar, but Pitch only rolled his eyes.

"Quiet down, or I'll make a shish kabob out of you," he snapped, shaking the jar. The fairies inside were knocked against the lid and fell dazedly to the bottom, clasping their hands protectively over their tiny heads. Tooth's fists clenched and she vowed that if she got the chance, she would make sure that he didn't get away with _any _of his teeth intact.

"Now where were we…?" said Pitch, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Oh yes. The negotiations. If the Guardians decide that your life is more important than their eleven hostages, then you can go, and I'm even allowing you to bring a souvenir. The boxes, or your fairies. And what good are the memories if you have no children to give them to?" he added slyly.

Tooth was silent for a long time. She knew Pitch was watching her closely for any sign of submission and she was careful to lower her head as she thought about Pitch's offer. And of how despicable he was. The dirty, under-handed, despicable monster! Of course he had this all figured out down to the last detail. It was unthinkable to her that she would ever abandon her fairies and Pitch knew that. It was one of those _have your cake and eat it too _situations. Pitch won either way. Unless…

Tooth felt the spark of an idea crackle to life and she raised her head, regarding Pitch with a strange look that she never, ever thought she would use on the Nightmare King. Amusement.

"What?" he asked warily, obviously suspicious.

"Despicable," she said flatly, gazing from the tooth container in his right hand to the jar in his left.

"What?" Pitch said, looking down at the container. "I scrubbed all the paint off, and your fairies can breathe."

"Not the box or the jar. _You," _Tooth snarled, her violet eyes flashing. The chains allowed her to rise until she was on her feet. She wasn't eye to eye with Pitch, but hey, you got what you got. Her voice was clear and strong and she allowed a touch of amusement to drip into it. "It's despicable how easily you chose to meddle in the lives of those children." She locked her gaze with the Nightmare King's and the latter actually flinched a bit. "You tore them from their lives and gave them magic that I'm surprised didn't _kill _them. And then you used them as weapons against your enemies. Despicable."

Pitch's eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Toothiana," he said coldly, "do you know what their lives were like before I took them?"

"So you don't deny taking them now."

He ignored the jab. _"Do you?" _he demanded, moving closer to the bars. His eyes were bright and angry in the shadow of his face.

She nodded grimly. "I do."

"Then you know that _none_ of them had a proper home, proper lives, or a proper family. Isn't that right?"

"They didn't _here, _either!" She was laughing now, almost hysterically. Okay, maybe it was a bit more than the bad influence of Danger. Maybe it was just the excitement of the plan in her head. "You trained them as mercenaries!"

"I gave them a home!" In his rage he dropped the tooth container and the jar with the fairies in order to grip the bars of her prison cell. Fortunately, the jar did not break and the two fairies only received a few dazing bumps. Once they regained their sense of direction, they glared up at Pitch, squeaking some very bad words in the fairy language. Tooth made a mental note to ask them where exactly they learned those words when they got out of this. _If _they got out of this. "I _loved _them! They were much better off here than in their old lives!"

"Uh huh, sure," she countered, obviously not convinced. "You sent a bunch of teenagers out to get slaughtered."

"Oh, don't give me that!" he spat, releasing his nearly crushing grip on the iron bars and turning away from her. "You would never have killed them."

"Believe me," Tooth sniffed, "I was actually considering it. That one with the hair with the red streaks, I was seriously thinking of decapitating her. Later, when she was going all ga-ga in the cell, which was hilarious by the way, there's no way I would've killed her, but during the battle, yeah, shameful to say that yes. Honestly though, she was really annoying."

Pitch whirled on her and narrowed his eyes. "Pain?"

"Nah, I'm good. Though these chains are a bit tight," she quipped, giving him another maddeningly bright smile.

He pressed his knuckles to his bowed forehead and said in obviously forced calm, "Not you. Pain, my daughter — "

"Mercenary."

"WHATEVER!"

"Now now, Pitch, you're going to burst a blood vessel," Tooth chided sarcastically. The Nightmares behind Pitch let out whinnies and Pitch snapped around to give them both withering looks. _Literally, _as it so happened. They both disintegrated into piles of sand upon catching their master's gaze, their remains whirling back to his empty hand where they vanished into a puff of black dust. "Even the horses are laughing at you, Pitch," she giggled. "That _can't _be good for your ranks."

Pitch was practically shaking with rage now and Tooth was feeling much better about herself. Still, she decided that she should stop while she was ahead. She had no idea of what Pitch might do to her if he got too angry. He was unstable and, worse, unpredictable. She didn't even want to think about what he might do to her now if it hadn't been for the bars of her cage that were now her protection.

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. When he opened them again, his eyes were still blazing with fury, but at least he had a small amount of control over himself again.

"Toothiana," said Pitch, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. "Let's get back to the problem at hand, shall we? You have a choice to either take your fairies and get out of my sight when I have my children back again, or take the tooth boxes and leave your fairies for…experimental purposes."

The last two words unsettled her greatly, but she managed to keep herself composed. "Hmmm," she said, pretending to think about it. "I dunno. It's a hard one."

Pitch raised an eyebrow, for a second forgetting that she was infuriating him therefore he should listen to nothing she said, then he quickly lowered it again and coughed. "If you do choose your fairies, there is a condition."

"Of course there is."

"The catch is," Pitch continued, ignoring her quip again, "no one says a word about the tooth boxes, _ever again_. You do not speak of them to the Guardians or my children, or I...will…be…_back."_

"Ooh, scary threat, Pitch," Tooth gasped, shaking her hands theatrically. Then she regained her serious tone. "That's the best you can come up with? Honestly, Pitch, I don't think your terms are very fair." She looked him straight in the eye, making sure that she looked and sounded completely sincere before continuing. "How about we change it up a bit? How about…I take one tooth container and one of my girls? That's fair, isn't it?" Tooth ignored the frightened squeaking of her two fairies and prayed that her plan would work. _"One _tooth box, I pick. It's not like you're going to use it."

Pitch frowned again. "What on earth could you possibly want with _one _of the boxes?" he asked suspiciously.

"The same thing I want with twelve," said Tooth. "To put it back where it belongs."

"Really?" Pitch asked, raising his eyebrow yet again. "You're not going to activate it during the exchange and return whatever memories have been gathered in the teeth to their owner?"

"Really, Pitch," Tooth said, putting her hand over her heart and ignoring the heavy black chain. "You wound me. I just want the boxes. Like, I'm kinda OCD about it all, you know, and those empty holes in my columns have been ticking me off for _years. _And there's one that's right in my line of sight from command central, and, like, do you have _any_ idea how much that annoys me? Like _I swear._"

He puzzled over her strange response for a while, then he shook his head. "No," he said flatly. "My terms remain the same. In addition, the tooth boxes will stay locked."

Tooth dropped her hand and smirked. "Well, in that case, I'll take the teeth."

In the jar on the floor, her two fairies gasped. Pitch's eyebrow shot up again. "Really?" he asked again, obviously surprised.

"Really really," she said, her voice deceptively jovial. "Those teeth are worth more to me than a pair of fairies that I can replace with a snap of my fingers." She snapped for emphasis and shot a quick, reassuring look at her girls. _Don't worry. I have a plan._

"Hmm." Pitch considered her response, glancing down at the fallen fairies, then the golden tooth container. "Perhaps some of you Guardians aren't as stupid as I first thought."

"Well, _I'm _not," said Tooth. "North would give you the Moon for one of his elves and Bunny, ho boy. _He _would certainly give you everything he has — which isn't much, honestly — if you kidnapped one of his 'googies'." She paused to laugh. "But I'm…more _practical_ minded. I have ten thousand mini-fairies. Soon I'll have nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight. Big whoop."

Pitch was clearly impressed. "Very well, it is your choice," he said, giving her a theatrical bow and scooping up both the glass jar and the golden cylinder in one fluid movement. "I'll be keeping these for now, just until the negotiations take place. And for the record, _I _will put them back, and you will never touch them again."

"Whatever. You go do that," Tooth let out a huge mock-yawn. "Oh, and don't forget to feed my girls when I'm gone! Honey nectar, if you please." Oh Moon, it was really breaking her heart to see her fairies so terrified, nearly having tiny heart attacks. They really thought she was going to leave them.

He bowed again, this time only inclining his head and bending his back a little bit. "I will keep that in mind. It's been a pleasure, Toothiana."

"As much pleasure as syphilis," she replied without missing a beat, giving him a smarmy wink.

Pitch smiled wryly and, as he turned his back on her and strode out the door she heard him mutter to himself, "Hmm. I think I tried to recruit the wrong Guardian."

"Never would have worked, Pitch!" Tooth hollered.

He raised his hand and waved to her, then she was alone in the darkness.

XXXXXXXXX

When all was silent again and she was sure he was gone, Tooth sank down on the bench and relaxed her unintentionally tensed muscles. "Whew. I thought I was going to break for a moment there," she whispered, mostly to console herself. "Now I just need to — "

She stopped, her head snapping up to catch the movement in the shadowy corner. She felt her hands clench when she realized what it was.

"You," she hissed, rising again and glaring at the pale, skinny boy who had detached himself from the shadows and was now standing before her. "I should've knocked you out and taken you back to the Pole when I had the chance. Then I wouldn't be in this mess!"

Unknown said nothing.

"Well?" she demanded, glaring at him like a disappointed mother.

He still didn't respond.

She sighed, the anger ebbing away slightly. If the kid was _this _shy, then there was something she was obviously missing about him. "Well, I guess it wasn't really your fault. If I'd lived here as long as you, I think I'd have a pretty screwed up definition of right and wrong too."

Still he said nothing. He was waiting, she realized. Sighing, she sank back down onto the bench. "Sit."

He sat.

"So tell me, Unknown. Why are you here? Come to keep the condemned woman company?" she asked, peering into the boy's hood.

The light that had all but gone out when Pitch had come in glowed again and by that light she could see the basic shape of his face. His skin was stretched across the bone which indicated malnourishment, as did his skinny frame and the bony hand that clutched the quarterstaff. In the dim light, Tooth saw how much he resembled Jack, albeit a younger and quieter version. But as skinny and small as Jack was, he couldn't compare to this boy. Tooth knew that he was supposed to be fourteen or fifteen, but he was so tiny that he could have easily passed for twelve, younger even.

After a long time of silence, during which the two just stared at each other, the younger finally opened his mouth. "He won't kill you." His voice, barely more than a whisper, was completely devoid of emotion.

"No, you're right. He's saving me for that exchange. I suppose you heard about that," she replied, the stern mother-look returning.

But he just nodded. It was barely discernable in the gloom.

"How much did you hear?" she asked.

"Enough."

She smiled wryly. "Let me guess. Your _father _told you that us Guardians are all monsters and not to say anything to us."

He said nothing.

"Or, better yet, he doesn't know you're down here. You're not supposed to be here, are you?"

He shook his head.

"Ah. I see," said Tooth, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "So, if you're not here to comfort me and you're disobeying orders from your _'father'," _she tried to use sarcastic air quotes, but those chains really were heavy, "then I must have something very important that you want to know. I wonder what that is."

"I'm — sorry."

The words were spoken so softly that Tooth could barely hear them. She did a double take, her entire prepared tirade cut off. "Come again?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, a bit louder. His mouth opened only a tiny bit more when saying this, allowing Tooth only a brief glimpse of the pearly whites behind his thin lips. "I…I was stupid. I — I just wanted to make Father proud, that's…that's all…"

Tooth blinked, not entirely sure how to respond. She believed him for this, but she wasn't sure if she could trust him. "I…forgive you," she said hesitantly, deciding to go out on a limb. "Like I said, living here for a long time, with Pitch no less, it's gonna give you a screwed up sense of right and wrong."

"You sound like Danger," Unknown blurted, then he checked himself and lowered his head again, ashamed.

"I do, don't I?" said Tooth. She had a theory for this. One of the girls was born in India, and the girls from there had smooth dark skin, like chocolate. Just like Danger. "I think it's because we're from the same place. I never actually talked like this before I met your sister, so maybe it's a reaction to seeing her."

She allowed the obviously confused boy to take it in. "You said we aren't Pitch's children," he finally said, just as she was about to open her mouth and explain.

"Actually, Pitch said that."

He said nothing.

"What, you honestly believed you _were?" _she asked. "Kid, you don't have any memories of when you were born. Or your first four or however many years it was before he woke you up and told you he was your father."

Unknown shrugged. It seemed to be his favorite way of communicating.

She hated herself for being so smart as to recognize the next fallacy, but he needed to know the truth. "Not only that," she pointed out, "but what did Pitch ever tell you about your _mother?"_

He cringed. "He…he said she'd died and — "

"Really," she said, trying not to sound smug. Honestly, it was hard. "She died. Coincidentally back in that mystical time in which you never remember anything. I'd bet that he never even told you anything else about her. Hey, and if you _did _have a mother who gave birth to you all, she should get a medal or something. I mean, she stuck with _Pitch. _And _twelve freaking kids_ in_ five freaking years?! _Women are human beings too…not clown cars, jeez!"

Unknown shifted uncomfortably. He obviously didn't like this train of thought and she decided to go easy on him. "Hehe, sorry. Pay no attention to that. Just me running off at the mouth." She tried a smile and found it wasn't difficult. "But seriously, kid. I just want you to think about it. It makes sense. I know you don't want to talk about it, so I'm gonna drop it, but I still want you to think about it."

He didn't move.

"So, leaving that awkward topic," Tooth said, swinging her legs over the side of the bench, "why _did _you come down here, besides to comfort the poor, terrified bird-woman who you knocked on the head?"

A wry, humorless smile, or at least a trace of one, graced the edges of the boy's lips. "I like talking to the ghosts."

Tooth let out a bark of laughter. "Ghosts. Right. You certainly are Pitch's…" Her voice trailed away. All traces of the smile on his lips had vanished and he was now staring at her with his head cocked. "You're kidding," she said, looking warily around her then back at the motionless boy. "There are actual _ghosts _down here?"

"Of course," replied Unknown, so dead serious that the reply almost sounded…_innocent,_ of all things. Like a kid who honestly believed that his imaginary friends were real (and sometimes they really were) and was trying to convince his mother of the same. "They like me. Isn't that right?"

Just at that moment, a draft of cold air swept through the cell and Tooth swore she could hear the barest snatches of echoing voices. She shivered. Those were no imaginary friends. "Oh man, that's creepy," she murmured, rubbing her arms nervously.

"Son of the Boogeyman, remember?" he smirked.

Tooth glanced around again, then nodded. Okay, she had that one coming, but she resisted the urge to point out — once again — that he was adopted. "So, what? When your sibs are too annoying you come down here to have a chat with dead people?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "That's very…"

"What?"

The question sounded innocent, but inside Tooth knew that it was a dare. She again felt the faint whisper of wind ruffling her feathers but this time, she could also feel the barest hint of something touching her back. "Nice," she amended, trying and failing not to shiver. "So, do you talk to them or…"

The small, wry smile was back. "We find ways to communicate. The unknown. Things unseen. We're very similar, the ghosts and I."

"So, what, you can command legions of the dead?"

"No, nothing like that," he said dismissively, obviously enjoying the bird-woman's fear, or at least her major creeped-out-edness. "That would require a lot of study of spell-craft to call them together in the first place and I'm really not that good yet — " He broke off, realizing that he'd let slip his secret skill, and cursed himself under his breath.

"Spell-craft? What, you're a wizard?" Tooth asked, smirking. "If so, you're a pretty pathetic wizard. Not a pointy hat in sight."

"I'm not a wizard," he murmured. "I just like to read a lot."

"So you said."

They sat like that for yet another immeasurable silence, him looking down at the floor and her looking at him. She wondered how hard it must've been for Unknown, for all the Nightmare Children, living here underground. A thought occurred to her: maybe Pitch hadn't been right when he'd said he'd given them a better-off life. They'd been child soldiers and pretty much slaves to their own families, but _anything _had to be better than being used as puppets for a man's revenge…right?

Tooth allowed her eyes to travel across Unknown's shadowed face and she wondered why one of the Nightmare Children as strong as him would be told to stay home. She could literally sense the pulsating, swirling power inside of him, tainted by the poison of nightmare sand that made it ever more potent. "The fear of the unknown," she whispered. "But wouldn't that make you the most powerful?"

He just cocked his head, silently asking her to continue.

"The fear of the unknown is the most powerful kind of fear," she said. "But…you…"

"Are a weak, useless child kept at home because he makes a mess of everything?"

Ouch. They didn't sound like his own words, so that had to hurt. "You didn't look like you were messing up anything in that battle. And, if I'm not mistaken, _you _were the one to set off the calling auroras. Being able to break into North's place without being caught? That's pretty impressive."

"But that's not the point!" Oh moon, he sounded so close to tears that it actually frightened Tooth. "I allowed Tempest to be caught, I led that…that Yeti thing to her, and it knocked her out — and I tried to kill that Frost brat even though she was about to do it for me, and — " He stopped himself again when he saw the flicker of shock in Tooth's eyes, then relaxed when she nodded.

"Ah," she said. "Yeah, if you were one of my fairies I would have you demoted to plaque-cleaner."

He shrugged. "I guess."

Another silence.

"You don't want your father to know how powerful you are, do you?" Tooth asked, trying to get another glimpse of what was hidden under the grey hood. All she saw was the feathery white hair framing his thin face.

He stiffened. "They all think I'm a simpleton, but I'm — I don't really know what I'm doing half the time and the other half I'm just…I don't know, I'm just…"

"Different," she finished quietly. "I know. It happens to everyone, don't worry. I feel that way with the Guardians. I mean, not only am I the only girl, but they think that because I'm female I can't fight or protect myself. That's…that's part of the reason I came down here in the first place. I wanted to prove to them that I'm able to do anything."

Unknown looked up, his hood shifting back a little bit. For a split second, they held each other's gaze, silver with violet. Then the boy broke eye contact and once again found fascination with the floor.

"They all think I'm stupid," he whispered. "Even Pitch."

Tooth felt her heart leap when he called the Nightmare King by his real name. "But you're not."

There was a hesitation, as if he'd really doubted it. "I don't know. Maybe not. There's…maybe there's just a lot about me they don't understand. I know I don't. I mean…all I want is…" He sighed and didn't finish, letting the unsaid words hang in the air. _To make someone proud._

Tooth didn't know how to respond, so she just looked down at her chains again. She couldn't imagine what unbearable teasing the poor kid must have gone through, just because he was shy and quiet and different. Actually, scratch that. She could. She could understand very well. It was the same unbearable teasing she'd had to bear when she had transformed from a lovely little girl to a winged bird-woman. She had lost her friends. People threw rocks at her as she passed, called her a freak, even offered rewards to whoever could capture her. Maybe they hadn't tried to kill him, but to suffer similar things from the closest things to family he had — that must've been so many more times worse.

"Unknown," she said, wanting to tell the boy her story and thinking that it might make him feel better, but when she looked up, he had vanished. There wasn't even a sign that he'd been there at all.

Another cold draft swept through the cell, ruffling her feathers. But this time, when she heard the voices, she could swear she heard Unknown's echoing voice among them, whispering, presumably to the ghosts, four words:

_"__Please don't embarrass me."_

She smiled. He had his ghosts, maybe, but she had her fairies.

_Girls? _she called, pushing through the magical bindings of the chains.

_Yes Mother?_

XXXXXXXXX

**Later, at the North Pole…**

"So your names are literally Danger and Suffering," said North, peering at the two sisters between the bars. They were playing a game of tic tac toe using water from cups that North had brought them when Dark complained of being lactose intolerant, but the others knew that he just wouldn't drink the milk because it was white. He much preferred chocolate milk.

Danger and Bunnymund sighed in unison, then glared daggers at each other. Unseen by them, Sandy created a little heart made out of dreamsand with a little golden arrow through it, and Jack smirked. Then Jack got that glint in his eyes — yes, _that _glint — and raised his eyebrows suggestively. Sandy cocked his head in confusion, and Jack pointed a thumb at the small Suffering.

Sandy scowled and stuck his golden tongue out at the winter spirit. The message was clear. _Shut up._

Suffering nodded shyly in response to the big man's question, oblivious to Jack's poor attempts at matchmaking. "Yes. Why?"

North smiled. Then he opened his mouth and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

The Guardians, Nightmare Children, and Yetis alike all stared at the large man. "North?" inquired Tempest from the back of the cell as she munched halfheartedly on her triple chocolate chunk cookie. "You okay?"

North composed himself and glanced at the other Guardians. "You remember younger days, no?" he chortled.

"Your bandit days, you mean?" asked Bunny, wondering what on earth had gotten the large man so worked up.

"Old Saint Nick was a bandit?" whispered Pain to Shame. The First Nightmare Child just shrugged and mouthed, _I don't know. They're all weirdos._

"Yes! Yes, those!" shouted North. "You remember what I always said: 'life is made up of danger and suffering. I laugh in the face of both!' Well, Danger and Suffering! I just laughed in faces! Haha!"

Everyone groaned at the horrible joke, especially the Guardians that had heard North say that quote before. He had had a few too many sugar cookies, emphasis on _sugar._

But before the Nightmare Children in question could object to the insult — if it _was _an insult — a hollering Yeti burst through the doors leading out of the hallway that led to Cell One.

"What is it?" North demanded, instantly reverting back to the serious Guardian that he was supposed to be.

The Yeti gestured wildly to the caged Nightmare Children, who were all looking up curiously, and then upstairs. The panic in the Yeti's wide eyes was enough to convince the Guardians that nothing good was happening.

Readying their weapons, North, Bunny, Sandy, and Jack followed the anxious Yeti up to the Globe Room. They were not comforted by Danger's remark that they all heard as they left.

"I wonder what Dad's cooked up _now."_

XXXXXXXXX

At first, when they burst out into the Globe Room, they didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Then they noticed that the Yetis were lingering near the walls of the room and that the elves were nowhere to be found. North stepped forward, craning his neck and looking all around to see what the Yeti was so worked up about.

"There is nothing — "

"Hello Guardians."

Said Guardians jumped and raised their weapons as a boy in a nondescript sweatshirt and grey jeans seemingly materialized out of thin air in front of the Globe's control panel. After the initial shock, they kept their eyes trained on the boy, who stood stone still with his back to them. His hood was pulled up over his head and one of his hands was stuffed in his pocket while the other held a long silver quarterstaff. Two pale bare feet stuck out from under the frayed hems of his faded jeans.

"North," said Bunny in a low voice.

"What?"

"We had all _twelve_ Nightmare Children…right?"

North's blue eyes went wide. "Umm…ahh…"

"Who are you?" snapped Jack, though he recognized the kid simply by the silver staff. This was that kid who had tackled him in the first battle. That kid who he had thought looked just like him…

There was a silence, during which the boy just stood and watched the Globe. "A messenger," he said without turning around.

"From Pitch?" Bunny demanded, holding his boomerangs at the ready.

He shifted uncomfortably, then nodded.

"Then deliver your message," said North, drawing his swords. "And get out of my home."

The kid shrugged again. "I don't really like my siblings, but…okay, I guess. Let them out, and — we'll give you back your fairy."

Jack's eyes flashed and his grip on his staff tightened. Tooth! This…_thing _had done something to Tooth! Jack took a step forward and raised his weapon. Just one well-placed and powerful blast of lightning and ice, and it would be the end of this strange messenger. The boy was so skinny that an electric fan could have blown him away, so it wouldn't take much to do him in. "What have you done to Tooth?" he growled.

"Jack!" scolded North. "Listen to what he has to say."

"Why should we?" Jack shot back, his voice trembling in barely-restrained anger. "He's one of Pitch's! We can't trust — "

"Because if you don't, then my father's going to kill me," the hooded boy cut in, "and then kill Tooth." He let that sink in, then added awkwardly, "And — I don't know about the fairy, but personally…I don't want to die."

"You — !" screamed Jack. He couldn't take it anymore. Something inside finally snapped and the insane fury drove his power out all in one rage-induced blast. The deadly missile of lightning and ice streaked towards the grey-clad boy and Jack instantly knew he was about to see blood splattered on the floor, but apparently his target wasn't completely defenseless. Just before the icy projectile would connect with his body, the boy spun on his heel and twirled that silver quarterstaff, the shaft seeming to absorb it before sending back at his attacker.

Jack had no time to act before the deflected projectile slammed into him and sent him flying backwards into the wall. He felt the crack of his head against the wood and fuzzily heard worried exclamations, but he was too angry to be defeated yet. He jumped to his feet before the other Guardians could reach him and glared, almost ferally livid, at the boy. He didn't even seem to _see _him as he just stood there, staring at his weapon.

"Cool," he remarked. It was chilling how young his voice sounded. Just like a child. "I didn't think that would work this time."

Jack raised his staff again. The temperature of the room was dropping drastically and a faint aura of blue and white flickered around the usually very cool and collected winter spirit. Bunny and Sandy backed away slowly, and a lot of the Yetis actually cringed, but North stood his ground.

"Jack, calm down!" he ordered. "We are all worried for Toothy's safety, but hurting this boy won't accomplish anything. Besides, _you _attacked _him."_

Jack felt his body exuding cold in powerful, angry pulses and he was about to scream that he didn't care, but he could also feel his senses returning and tried to take a few breaths to calm himself. His breath was clearly visible as small, swirling white clouds of fog in the freezing air. Sure, he knew that what he had done might have been wrong and impulsive and could have hurt the kid, but he couldn't help himself! Tooth was in danger and he was just so worried.

The barefoot messenger just stood there, watching the four Guardians. "Done yet?"

Jack turned his freezing blue eyes towards the boy. "Who are you?" he spat.

A flicker of a smile danced across what little of his face they could see. He was playing with them in one of the most childishly clever ways of all, using his own mystery as a weakness against them to intimidate them. And he looked like he was having fun doing it, too. "Nobody."

Bunnymund coughed into his paw uncomfortably. "Uhh, I think Frost is working on a name basis here," he said. "First name, last. Not a label."

"There's a lot of names for me."

"And those other names might be…?" prompted North.

"Invisible," he shrugged. "Void, Ghost, and Mystery work too."

The Guardians all stared at him. "Anything else?" Bunny inquired, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"Unknown."

"Unknown," Bunny repeated, still slightly sarcastic but now warier.

"The Twelfth Nightmare Child," whispered Jack. "The fear of the unknown." His heart suddenly dropped into the pit of his stomach and a strange, somehow cold numbness crept through his body. The boy, that was why he looked so much like him! He was the embodiment of everything Jack feared becoming. Dark, unseen, unnoticed, unknown…

North said something unprintable, even though it was in Russian. "There was another! How could we have forgotten?"

"Oh, I don't mind," said Unknown, almost lightly in the tone of it. Still bitter, though. He might've been playing the antagonist in this conversation, but the weakness made it obvious to every one of the Guardians that it was just a show. "I'm always forgotten. Once I ran away to Tokyo for three months. No one noticed."

The Guardians stared at him. "Really?" asked Jack.

He sighed. "I wish. Anyway, I…kinda gotta get back soon with either a yes or a no, so…" Coughing, the boy fiddled with his hoodie string and generally tried to look busy just to disguise the fact that he was hesitating. "Uh, I guess just saying you're considering it would be all right too…"

Sandy flashed a question mark to the other Guardians. North looked at Unknown and said, "We will consider it. Tell that to your father."

Under the hood, Unknown nodded once sharply. "Thank you." He turned as if to go, but then he must have remembered something because he stopped and turned back to the Guardians. "Oh. I almost forgot."

Jack's hands instantly clenched around his staff again, ready for another fight.

Then Unknown reached into his pocket and drew out something cupped in his hand. "Take care of this. I found it outside when I left the lair." Glancing once at it, he then tossed whatever it was to Jack. Instinct drove Jack forward and he dropped his staff and caught the little green ball. It was a mini-fairy!

"What did you — " Jack began shakily, but the younger boy stopped him.

"I saved her," he said shortly. "She's just asleep. Should wake up in a few hours. Don't bother thanking me."

And with that, the Twelfth Nightmare Child vanished.

XXXXXXXXX

_Wow,_ he thought on the way back, _melodrama's fun._

A smirk touched his lips.

_No wonder Father uses it so much._


	12. Food

**uuuuuuuuuugggggggghghgghghghgghhhhh**

**i think im just gonna post all of these chapters up to 15 and leave because wow**

**i hate my old writing style i just ugh wow,**

* * *

><p>Tooth propped her head up with her arm and sighed loudly. "I am so bored!" she complained to the ghosts. "How on earth do you guys stand it?"<p>

No response.

She rolled her eyes and let out another sigh. The ghosts in the dungeons didn't seem to like her as much as they liked Unknown. She tried talking to them, but they either couldn't understand her or couldn't talk like she could. Or maybe they were just trying to carry out the Nightmare Child's order to not embarrass him. Whatever it was, it was actually quite annoying, feeling those cold drafts of wind across the back of her neck and hearing the low, nearly inaudible voices borne on the faint breeze.

She thought she'd heard one of them speaking directly to her once, but then she realized that it was just Pitch talking to Unknown. She couldn't hear the boy, but Pitch's voice was loud enough to carry down to the prison cells, though it wasn't particularly angry. She wondered what the Nightmare King was cooking up now.

After a while, Tooth started playing tic tac toe with herself, using a small shard of rock to scratch the lines on the stone floor. It was the only thing she could think of to do to keep her from going insane. Heck, even talking to Pitch or Unknown was better than this!

Unknown. The mere thought of him gave her a weird feeling inside that she couldn't really explain. Pity, maybe. She couldn't say she particularly _liked _him, per se, but to present a motherly affection — maybe that was a bit better. Tooth looked up and wished he was here now. True, she didn't know much about the boy, but there was just something about him that made her want to trust him.

Even though they were almost polar opposites, he reminded her of Jack. The way they both held their staffs, like they were drawing comfort from them. Their body language, especially the shifting of their feet. Tooth had noticed that the positions in which Jack shifted his feet — Unknown also had this habit — gave away a lot about his mood. Most of the time Unknown's were turned in and fidgety, which signified that he was uncomfortable, as if he wasn't sure how to deal with people. Jack's were typically turned out, like he couldn't care less what someone else thought about him. And there was a certain determination in his voice that she had also heard in Jack's, even though the voices themselves differed in all else.

Tooth sighed, shook her head, and again tried contacting her two captured daughters via the telepathic connection she had with all of her fairies. The chains, with their magical bindings that were similar to the ones in North's restriction collars, made it difficult, but they weren't nearly as secure and she'd been able to simply find a loophole. Earlier, she had been able to speak to her girls and did, at great length, before they had been moved and broken her concentration. She hadn't been able to hear them again for about an hour, and then their voices had been faint.

She'd probably lost the loop connection. Her plan hinged on her girls being able to understand her clearly, and this new development wasn't helping. Luckily for her, Tooth had been able to at least tell the two girls that she had a plan, and they had replied that they were completely willing to do anything to get out. Of course, they made her apologize for making them think she was going to leave them, and only after she did had they listened to her idea.

As radical ideas went, this one was right up there with skateboarding down the St. Louis Arc. Her girls hadn't approved at first, but Tooth had told them that it was the only way to get them out and they would be back soon. She had promised, and even though they had a grudge to settle with "you-know-who-but-you-really-don't", as they so fondly called him, they had agreed to put it aside to help their mother escape. Tooth thanked them again and then they had been moved, cutting off the connection.

She didn't know how long she'd been in the cell, but she assumed it was somewhere around two days. During those two days, Unknown had visited her three times and each time, she'd had a few decent minutes of conversation. Then something had made him uncomfortable and he'd left as silently as he'd come.

The first time was right after she was imprisoned, which we already know of. The second time was after her first meal. These meals were scanty and rarely given, with food that was only barely edible. Pitch brought it, sauntering in like he owned the world.

"Good morning, little bird," said the Nightmare King smoothly. Obviously something good had happened — good for him, that is, because he seemed much less uptight than when he'd first visited her.

"Again with the little bird thing? Gimme a break," Tooth drawled. In truth, now she was the one feeling kind of crabby. She hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep because of the chains and that iron board that was supposed to be her bed.

Pitch's smirk never wavered. "Feeling rather out of sorts this morning, eh Toothiana?" he asked, bending down until he was eye to eye with her. "Hmm. Maybe some food will help. He slid the tray he'd been carrying through a small space underneath the bars, just out of her reach, and straightened up again. "Enjoy."

Tooth then proceeded to swear extravagantly at him, to which Pitch simply tutted. "Toothiana, it's not wise to antagonize me."

"Oh, I haven't yet begun to antagonize," she sneered, then she regained her normal tones and asked pleasantly, "Any news from the Guardians?"

Pitch laughed. "Oh, those fools told my son they would consider my offer. Well, they better consider quickly, because I have a nice new sword that I've been dying to try out."

Tooth's attitude faltered just a bit. She didn't doubt for a second that Pitch would kill her if the Guardians didn't hurry up and agree. He was evil, twisted, angry, bitter, and he had absolutely nothing to lose and everything to gain. It was horrifying how far he'd slipped away from sanity.

"V- very funny, Pitch," Tooth said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. The cocky fairy she'd been a few hours ago had almost completely faded, leaving her a terrified woman with no weapons and no way out.

_NO! _she scolded herself. _That's not true! I DO have a plan! My girls and my intellect are my weapons! I'm going to get out of here!_

"Very funny," she said again, this time without the tremor. "You wouldn't kill me unless necessary, otherwise you won't get your puppets back."

He just sneered. "You're only half right, my dear. I do need you to trade for my children, but if things go sour I can always slit your throat and go get them myself."

"No, you won't," she replied. Her former confidence was returning. "You're too much of a coward, aren't you?"

"I AM NOT A COWARD!" Pitch screamed, sending a lash of nightmare sand at her through the bars.

She ducked it, popped back up, and smiled. "No, of course not. Ordering a bunch of teenagers out to battle your enemies is the act of a brave man."

Pitch was shaking with rage again and Tooth found herself enjoying this immensely. Now this, _this _was antagonizing the Boogeyman.

"And not trying to get them back yourself when only a few of them were captured, yeah, that's the bravest thing I've ever seen," she continued, laying on the sarcasm thick. "Oh! And let's not forget my personal favorite of all, _not telling them who they truly were!" _Pitch actually recoiled at the ferocity of this last phrase, a flicker of emotion — realization? — darting across his face before vanishing back into the bubbling anger. "How does all that _bravery_ fit inside one Fearling-infested husk of a heart?"

He clenched his fists, took a few deep breaths, then turned and stalked back down the corridor, still seething mad.

"Don't forget to feed my girls!" Tooth called after him cheerfully.

He let out a noise like an angry bull and disappeared from view.

She smiled. That went rather well. Then she leaned forward to inspect her "meal".

Said "meal" consisted of a metal cup of water that smelled like rust and year-old milk, a hard dinner roll (somewhat moldy), and a hunk of greenish cheese that could have been alternatively used as wolf repellent. She didn't touch any of them. Even if she hadn't been immortal and immune to starvation or dehydration, she still wouldn't have eaten them. Or maybe she would have. She didn't really know — the physical limits of the human body were a mystery to her.

After her mini-battle with Pitch, she decided to try sleeping some more. But when she did, her sleep was peppered with Nightmares — both the horse and the actual dreams. She could see their glinting eyes as they wove in and out of her dreams and shivered. But worse than the Nightmares was the highly uncomfortable position she found herself in, laying on her bench with her legs bent in and the chains constantly chafing her feathers and the soft skin underneath. The position was killing her back and she tried turning every which way, but it hadn't worked.

So she'd dealt with the pain and the night horrors until she just couldn't take it anymore. Whether she screamed for real or in the dream, she didn't know, but whichever it was, it did its job. There was a searing crack of white against the blackness of her dream, which spread and enveloped everything in a shimmering silver veil. The horrors themselves faded into the curtain, blending into it until they were no more.

_You're free, _said an echoing, ethereal voice.

She sat bolt upright and whirled around to face Unknown, who was standing outside her cell with one hand stretched through the bars towards her. Thin tendrils of silver sand danced and spun slowly around him, weaving through the bars to surround her. But the strange sand was only there for a second before the boy's hand dropped and the tendrils vanished as if the sand had never existed. His head lifted, and she met his large silver eyes. Pain and loneliness danced in them like the sand, but she could also see a tiny bright spark — hope.

"Thank you for chasing them away," she said quietly.

He nodded and started fingering one of his hoodie strings, but he didn't say anything more.

"So, um, what are you doing here?" she asked hesitantly, hoping that he would stay for a while. He was a kind boy at heart and she wondered what he might be like if he wasn't under Pitch's thumb.

Almost hesitantly, Unknown knelt and picked up a paper bag from the ground. "I…brought you dinner."

Tooth looked at the tray of food Pitch had brought. She hadn't touched it. "I already got dinner," she said, smiling uncomfortably and nodding towards the tray. Then she frowned. "That's not to say I actually ate it. Or touched it."

"Then try this one," Unknown said in the same monotone as always, though Tooth could hear that signature determination. He fed it through the bars of the cell, offering it to her. As Tooth took the weighty paper bag, her fingers brushed against Unknown's. His were cold as ice. Tooth had felt cold hands before — Jack's, of course — but those hands had been a crisp kind of cold that sent a shiver of electricity up her nerves. These hands were just _cold_. Dark and hostile, somehow.

He pulled them away and shoved them into his pockets as soon as possible.

Tooth sat back down on her bench and opened the paper bag. Inside she found a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich, a chocolate chip granola bar, half a bar of dark chocolate, and a can of Diet Mountain Dew. "I made the sandwich myself," Unknown said, and was that a bit of pride in his voice as he said it? She didn't doubt the truth of it. She saw a small Nutella stain on his sleeve that she didn't think he was aware of.

She couldn't help the blush from rising to her fair cheeks. "Why, thank you," she said. How was she going to say this gently? "But…I don't want it." Smooth, Tooth. Real smooth.

There was no visible reaction on the boy's face — the indifferent mask never wavered. But she could trace the hurt in his voice as he asked quietly, "Why not?"

"It's nothing you've done," Tooth said quickly. "It's just that…well, sugar. I — I don't like sugar. It rots teeth."

"Oh." Unknown found a sudden fascination with his feet. "But you said you haven't eaten."

Tooth tried to smile, but she found it somehow hard. "Well, as an immortal, I don't really have to eat. I can, but I don't get hungry."

"Really?"

"Yeah. But…thanks for bringing it for me anyway," she said as kindly as she could, folding the top of the bag back up and handing it back to Unknown. The boy snatched it back, maybe a bit angrily, and turned away as if to leave. But he didn't. He just stood there, indecisive whether to stay or go.

"Hey," Tooth said gently. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but it's not about you, Unknown. It's just that I like to keep my teeth healthy. It's…it's kind of like an obsession." She grinned sheepishly and rubbed her arm.

With his back to her, Unknown allowed himself a smile. "It's okay. I understand."

And he left without another word.

XXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, the four male Guardians were discussing the proposed trade with Pitch. Predictably, it wasn't going well.

Desperation can make one angry. Pressure can cause even the calmest man to spew ugly words to his dearest friend. Both of these applied in the case of this debate.

Though he disliked the prospect of putting the eleven Nightmare Children back in Pitch's care — partially because Pitch would merely train them harder, suit them up, and send them back to attack; partially because he really liked having other kids his age around the Pole — Jack wanted to just do something, whether that be getting the trade done with or going down there himself and kicking Pitch to kingdom come. Tooth was like a surrogate mother to him. He couldn't stand to let her just be taken and imprisoned, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to control himself if she was killed by either Pitch or that upstart invisible kid Unknown.

North wanted to bargain with Pitch for a better option, maybe not just about the children and Tooth but about the problem as a whole. Solve the entire thing and end the feud for good.

Bunny wanted to go right in, snatch Tooth out of Pitch's grasp, and take Unknown while they were at it. That way, they would have all twelve Nightmare Children and all five Guardians, thus giving them the higher ground.

(Sandy, the poor soul, was ignored entirely.)

"It's the simplest way, I'm tellin' ya!" Bunny said firmly. "Pitch is weak! You've seen how he sent those kids and didn't even bother coming himself! That means he's weak! He doesn't have enough power to fight us all off and once we get Tooth and that last kid, Pitch will have no choice but give up!"

"No, I disagree," North put in. "Pitch may be weak, but he is strong enough to wield weapons. He won't lose willingly, Bunny. He might even kill Toothy the second he hears intruders in his lair."

"Oh yeah? Then let's hear your idea, grandpa," Bunny shot back, folding his arms over his chest.

North sighed. "I think we should call for a parley," he said. "Meet with Pitch and see if he will talk terms with us."

"Parley?" Bunny echoed. "Mate, it's a simple problem: he's got Tooth, we've got his kids. He won't want to meet with us to '_talk terms'._"

"Bunny," North said, banging his fist on the council table. "I'm not talking about just Toothy and children. I am talking about whole feud! Ending this before someone gets hurt!"

"Someone's already getting hurt!" Jack interjected angrily. "Tooth! She's stuck in some hole with Pitch and that boy, probably crying her eyes out! We have to rescue her!"

"Finally!" Bunny exclaimed, glad that at least two of the Guardians were thinking clearly. "_Someone _sees sense!"

"Oh, I didn't say I agreed with you, Kangaroo," Jack smirked. The smile never reached his eyes. They were as cold as ice. "It's a stupid idea to just run into Pitch's lair half-cocked and without any plan."

"Oh really?" Bunny growled, standing up and glaring at the winter spirit. "So what's your brilliant idea, _Frosty?"_

"Send one of us down there!" Jack exploded. "It's so simple that — that even Jamie's _dog_ could figure it out! I go in there, freeze and shatter whatever bars are holding Tooth in, pull her out of there and ice anything else in my path!"

"Jack, you are not strong enough!" North argued. "What if you ran into Unknown again, or even Pitch?"

The elemental snorted derisively. "I can handle that third-rate fear spirit and his little henchman any day of the week."

"Oh really?" North challenged slyly. "Like you did a few hours ago?"

Jack bristled. "He caught me off guard! I could easily defeat him in a fair fight!"

It was Bunny's turn to snort. "Sure."

"Oh yeah? Well, what about you, Kangaroo?" Jack spat, rounding on Bunny. "The only reason you don't want to give the Nightmare Children back is because you have a crush on that freaky purple-eyed daredevil!"

Bunny's eyes flashed and his teeth clenched. "You don't know what you're talking about!" he snapped, turning away to keep himself from pummeling the younger spirit. "It is a purely paternal connection — "

"Oh, I _don't _know?" Jack repeated sarcastically, advancing on the rabbit. "It's so obvious you like her. You drool over her each time we go down there!"

The Pooka, now beyond irritated, whirled on Jack and drew his boomerangs. "OH YEAH?" he shouted, hurling one at Jack. "You're just as bad! What about you and that storm-bringer, aha?"

Jack ducked the wooden projectile, but faltered as he came up. "What?"

"Oh, don't play innocent, boy," Bunny spat. "You can't take your eyes off her every time we go down there! Hypocrite!"

"GENTLEMEN!" North hollered, banging both fists down on the table and nearly causing it to flip over. "This is not accomplishing ANYTHING!"

"SHUT UP NORTH!" they both yelled, turning on the large man.

North's face grew red with rage. "Listen to you two!" he bellowed, stomping around the table to them. "Arguing like a pair of spoiled children! There is real trouble out there and we need to figure out what to do next!"

"So says the man who suggested _parleying _with our worst enemy!" Jack shot back.

"Leave him alone, Frost!" Bunny jabbed a threatening paw at the boy.

"So now you're on his side now?" Jack demanded, rising a few inches off the ground. "Huh. Ironic, considering how you two used to hate each other!"

"We never hated," North said coldly. "We just had…disagreements."

"Yeah, disagreements that ended in brawls," Bunny muttered, glaring at Jack.

"BUNNY!" North shouted. "ENOUGH!"

"No, North, this isn't enough!" Bunny's jaw was clenched in only that way that it did when he was really angry. "That's the whole problem! We need more manpower and we need Tooth back!"

"All right, I agree," North replied, rubbing his forehead. "But Jack is right. We cannot just run into Pitch's lair and — "

"HA!" Jack shouted. "He said I was right!"

North finally lost his last bit of patience. "WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP JACK?!" he bellowed, spraying spittle everywhere. "YOU ARE NOT HELPING!"

"No, he is definitely _not," _Bunny agreed venomously.

"YOU SHUT UP TOO BUNNYMUND!" North ordered, pointing a threatening finger at the Easter Bunny. "You are not helping either! _NONE OF THIS IS HELPING!"_

Then there was a loud sound, something like a thunderclap, and they all had only enough time to turn and stare at the only Guardian who had not yet voiced his opinion. Then they all crumpled to the ground, asleep. Candy canes, carrots, and snow cones made of dreamsand floated around their heads. Sandy nodded in satisfaction as he admired his handiwork.

Throughout the entire argument, the three larger Guardians had ignored the silent dreammaker and his attempts to keep them from getting too riled up. He was the peacekeeper, a mediator, and it was his job to keep the Guardians together in times of crisises. This job was getting harder and harder with each new point that Jack, Bunny, and North found to argue over. Never before had the Guardians' opinions contrasted so much, and it was getting ugly. The bonds that they had were straining. Teamwork was unimportant to them now in the shadow of winning this argument.

Finally, it just became too much for the little dreammaker. He was a peaceful being with a violent streak and he couldn't stand to see them arguing, so when those nasty words began flying between Jack, North, and Bunny, Sandy's patience snapped and he decided to send them all to dreamland for a bit. Then, as an afterthought, Sandy sent a tendril of memory-wiping magic into their dormant minds. Some of those things that they had said were best left unremembered.

And he was left sitting at a chair at the council table, gazing at his dreaming friends.

_I promise you, Tooth, _he thought wearily, _we'll figure this out._


	13. Truth

**Okay. I wasn't originally planning to update today, but someone nominated me for some kind of fanfic awards with this story and ? I'm not sure how happy I should be so?  
><strong>

**I am very happy but I'm like? Why this story, I'm not even finished and in less than three chapters am going to murder a child so um**

**Eh ok just have it I guess**

* * *

><p>The third time Unknown came to visit Tooth was about a day after the second. He came as he seemed to always come — like a shadow, silently and seemingly without movement, but all of a sudden there he was, just standing or sitting there as if he'd been there all along. In this case it was sitting. He appeared, resting cross-legged on the floor with his head down and his staff over his shoulder.<p>

Tooth didn't ask why he had come again. That would sound rude, like she didn't want him here with her. But she did, really. She was going _insane _in this place without anyone besides the ghosts to talk to, which was no doubt why Pitch had picked this particular cell. Tooth was an extrovert at heart and could remember only one time when she had been completely alone and with no hope, and she'd resolved never to feel that way again.

No matter what the situation, the Guardians had always been there for her. And even if they couldn't, she'd at least had her fairies! Now…all she had were a few ghosts that liked tickling her and Unknown. She couldn't even talk to her fairies anymore; Pitch had seen to that when he'd moved them, far enough away from her that she couldn't hear them. She hoped he remembered to feed them. Though they wouldn't die, they got moody when they didn't get enough sleep or food.

_Actually, _she thought as she sat on her cold metal bench with only a few metal bars between her and the boy who sat before her, _that doesn't sound too bad. Hehe, if he really has forgotten to feed them, boy, are they going to have some things to say to him…_

Tooth allowed a small smile to form on her face. You could find joy in the oddest things when you were in a situation like hers. A few hours ago, all she'd felt was sadness and solitude, which she hated. She hated feeling small and alone, and feeling small and alone in here felt ten times worse because of the residual emotions left here by the ghosts. The feelings of the dead seemed to amplify her own and only when there was another person with her did the feelings go away.

That was one thing she had yet to thank Unknown for, and she made a mental note to do so when she was out of here. _His heart's in the right place, _she thought, peering into his still-hooded face. _He just doesn't know anything except Pitch and that's why he does what he's told. If he had a chance to see what the outside world is really like, then maybe…_

_Maybe…_

After a while, during which the silence filled the dungeons, save the gentle whisperings of the ghosts that now even Tooth began to vaguely understand, Unknown spoke in a low voice, as if he was afraid of the answer.

"Do you remember anything about my memories?" he asked, still barely moving.

Tooth cocked her head as she thought, a strange habit that she had never managed to grow out of (probably a bird thing). Of course the boy would want to know about his memories. "I — no. I'm sorry," she said, looking down at him with what Jack had taken to calling the "mother eyes". It was a look filled with compassion, sadness, and a bit of hope. Hope that maybe, just _maybe, _her plan would work.

She'd been working on it for a while now and was pretty sure it would. All she needed was a little help from a very shy Nightmare Child.

"In all honesty," she admitted, looking down at her hands, "I don't really look at the specific memories anymore. There's too much to do. We usually just collect them, put them into their containers, and move on."

This obviously did nothing to make Unknown feel better and he got up to go. "Wait, hang on," said Tooth a bit desperately, holding up a hand. He couldn't leave now. There wasn't enough time and he might not have a chance to come back, and at this stage of the plan, that definitely would not do.

Puzzled, he sat again.

"We can't look at every one," she amended, "but I think I saw yours…once. I — I don't know your name, or your parents' names, but I do remember that they loved you. You had a baby brother, too." Her voice went soft. She wasn't sure where these things came from, but she was certain they were true. "They loved you. True, they weren't very well off, but you were happy. All of you."

He was frozen, enraptured by Tooth's story. "I — I had a little brother?" he asked shakily, not daring to believe it.

She nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry, but I can't remember anything else."

But Unknown didn't seem to care. He was so thrilled by this new knowledge that he even smiled. Then, as she'd expected, the smile faded and her heart sank again. "I guess I just hoped…" He sighed. "…that you would know my real name, I guess."

Tooth blinked. His name?

His fingers tightened around his weapon as if he was trying to keep himself from screaming. "I hate my name," he almost snarled. "I _hate _it. Every time someone says it I'm reminded that I'm no one in their eyes. Invisible. _Nothing._ I _hate _it and I just wish — "

"Unknown," Tooth said gently, cutting him off mid-rant.

He stopped and coughed awkwardly as he realized he was rambling to a prisoner he barely knew. "Sorry," he said, looking at the ground. "Gods, I'm such a — "

"No, it's okay," she interrupted. "I can't imagine you had that many people to talk to here, so if you need to say something, just go ahead and say it."

But he didn't. He just held his staff across his knees and sat quietly, his head bowed like a child in prayer.

Tooth gave the boy a gentle smile. "Unknown," she prompted. "I'm waiting."

Still no response. She sighed.

"Look," she said, "I'm sorry about your name, but it's not like I've got anything else to call you, right?"

Nothing.

"I mean," Tooth tried again, "I don't mean to hurt your feelings or anything, so please just understand what I'm saying. You're not nobody, kid, and even if it feels like I'm the first person to acknowledge that, at least it's a start."

He raised his head a little bit at this, but little more.

A small smile sprang to her lips. "So…unless you want me to call you Billy Bob Jones…"

She could swear she almost saw him smile too, but it might've just been a trick of the light. At the lack of response, she tapered off and sighed again.

"I'm being kind of serious now," she coughed awkwardly. "I am honestly worried about the state of your sanity. Really, are you okay?"

He lifted his head and she thought she saw a silver glimmer past the deep shadow. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

"I'm so sure," she said, happy to have regained her sense of sarcasm. It was the one thing that had kept her going whenever Pitch came down in a futile attempt to talk to her. That fear-spirit scared her stiff, and, if she was honest, so did the Nightmare Children. Just a little bit. They all had their own powers, some a little more frightening than others for her personally, but they were just children.

_Think of what they could do if they were grown-ups, _the cynical voice in her head pointed out. _Pitch would be unstoppable!_

"You okay?" Unknown asked suddenly, noticing the shiver.

"I'm fine. Just thinking," she replied.

Unknown, once again, did not respond and Tooth took this opportunity to study him once again. It was an action that any other spirit might have found insulting, but the kid probably didn't even notice. His shoulders moved slightly as he breathed.

_Well, at least he's still human in that aspect, _Tooth thought. _Now, if he stops breathing, then he's either dead or completely a spirit._

_That's technically the same thing, _her cynical side put in. She had to agree.

It was true. Tooth hadn't personally seen what Pitch had done to the kids, but whatever process that he'd used hadn't worked completely. It left a small sliver of the children that had once been, and that sliver was part of what made them so powerful. They could control sand like Pitch could, judging by the way Suffering had fought in the first battle with her sand-whips and Unknown had used his silver sand to awaken her. They could all manipulate their personalized fears and they all healed quickly, albeit a bit slower than normal immortals might. Yes, that was all pretty impressive, but they were very much human too.

They were definitely more impulsive and prone to stronger emotions and moods than many of the immortals Tooth had known. Then again, that might just be puberty. As far as she knew they aged and grew like normal mortals and were burdened by the incessant physical needs of the body — which the Guardians were all painfully reminded of every time one of the Nightmare Children asked if they could leave Cell One to use the bathroom — but their personalities, their words, now that was what really showed off the human underneath.

And that human heart was what she was trying to appeal to now.

"Unknown," she said hesitantly. Now that she was aware of how much he hated his name she was reluctant to use it.

He didn't reply.

She tried again. "Unknown," she repeated, louder this time.

His head moved a bit, but still he said nothing. Tooth sighed. As well as being so naïve and impressionable, the Nightmare Children were also stubborn._ Infernally_ stubborn. Hair-tearingly stubborn, eye-twitchingly stubborn, even wants-to-make-you-scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs stubborn. This thought beckoned out a small smile onto her lips as she remembered one of the first mornings — and it had been _very _early in the morning — when Jack had cheerfully told Tempest and Danger to "rise and shine".

They had yelled at him for ten minutes straight before promptly going back to sleep.

Tooth's mouth twitched a little in amusement. _Very _stubborn, they were, and Unknown didn't seem to be any less so. Well, those were humans for you.

She sighed again and let him sit longer in the silence. It saddened her to see a boy so alone, so quiet, so unwilling to share a piece of his fragile heart. _If I was in his position, I probably wouldn't either, _she mused, the faint smile vanishing from her lips. _He barely knows me, after all. I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but I have to try._

His shoulders were slumped forward and his head was bowed as if he carried the weight of the world on his back. She'd seen kids like him in the mortal world, without the weird powers and weapon of course. Their lives were often lonely, rarely happy, and sometimes ended before they should have.

Tooth lowered her head sadly. Other children, _human _children, acted just like he was now; hiding their pain behind a mask — or, in this case, a hood — but they didn't do it just because they felt like it. They did it because if they showed people what they were really feeling, they'd just be tormented further. Children like that were so unreachable, so devoid of any faith, hope, wonder, or dreams. Even showing them their memories didn't help because those memories were so painful. They were told that nothing good would ever happen in their lives and they believed that. That was why they were so sad.

Because they never tried to change it.

Sometimes, when she was by herself in her room at the Palace or out alone on her routes, she wondered what could drive these children to make some of the choices they did, and now she had a glimpse as to why. Was it really entirely their fault? Who'd failed to appreciate them, care for them, even _see _them? That was really what teens and children like Unknown and the other Nightmare Children and, heck, even _Pitch _probably wanted. To be _seen._

Sometimes, she reflected, all it could take is one friend, just one person who cared enough, and a person's life could be changed forever.

"Unknown," she said again. She tried to reach through the bars, but the chains prevented her from reaching farther than his knee, exposed by a tear in his jeans. "Kid. Look at me."

He flinched when her soft fingers brushed his skin and he looked up, still saying nothing.

"Listen to me. I'm not your enemy," she continued, keeping her hand on his knee. Sometimes physical touch helped. "I know your life's been hard, harder than I could probably ever imagine, but I want you to know that no matter what, I'm ready to listen to you. Don't be afraid to tell me. I may be a Guardian, one you've been raised to hate, but I'm more than that. I'm a Guardian of _Childhood_. I help protect Wonder, Hope, Memories, Dreams, and Fun and I help bring it to the children of the world. It's my job, and it's what I love to do."

She felt tears falling from her eyes, but they weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of kindness.

"It doesn't matter what you've done, what you are, who you are. It doesn't matter how you've been taught." Her voice grew softer and shakier with every word. "Even a Nightmare Child deserves to be heard."

Unknown didn't respond for a long, long time, but Tooth didn't mind. The kid had been alone for most of his life, and when he wasn't alone, he was with people who didn't love him. Having someone to talk to was a major change, if not a shock.

Then, to Tooth's surprise, he lowered his head, took one hand off his staff, and placed it over hers. And this time, she didn't recoil. As cold as it was, there was a gentle softness of his skin and the faint flutter of a steady pulse within that almost mesmerized her. He was nearly trembling. "Thank you."

Tooth smiled faintly. "You're welcome," she whispered, and she meant it. The boy was no more than a neglected child.

Unknown took a breath in, as if to say something more, but he was silenced by the footsteps echoing down the stairs leading to the dungeons.

"Father," the boy whispered, staring at the entrance as if something horrible and huge stood there with its fangs bared. His voice was laced with fear and a touch of anger. "I — I was never here," he said, turning to Tooth and standing up quickly. "If he finds out…" He didn't need to finish the sentence. Tooth nodded and Unknown's small form vanished into thin air. She heard the barely audible sound of his footsteps moving towards the wall's darkest corner, then a painful-sounding bump and a choked string of curses. Tooth winced. Unseen obviously didn't mean unheard.

Then, just as the silence came back, Pitch strode down the prison hallways with all the dignity of a king to stop before her cell. He looked the same as he always had, black hair spiked to perfection and that arrogant smile on his face, but he was alone this time, with no Nightmare guards to accompany him.

"There has been no word from your _friends _yet," he said coolly, then spitting out _friends _like it was poison.

"I figured," Tooth said, glaring up at him with her own smile on her face. She was feeling pretty cocky at the moment. "So, why the visit?" she asked. "Getting bored up there all alone? Oh, right. You're not all alone. You have some sand ponies, an emo teenager, and my fairies to keep you company, don't you?"

Pitch's arrogant smile turned to a scowl. "Those blasted pests of yours are driving me insane," he growled. "Yak yak yak, chirp chirp chirp. It's _infuriating! _I swear, I might just stuff them and have done with it!"

"Hey, I told you to feed them," Tooth yawned. "It's not my fault if they get a little jumpy when hungry."

Pitch's eyes narrowed. "Yes, and speaking of food…" he said, bending down until they were eye to eye. "I feel I should warn you, I know about last night's dinner."

Tooth raised an eyebrow, trying to hide her fear and the fact that she knew exactly which dinner he was talking about. "Uh, yeah, I do too," she sniffed. "Moldy bread, green cheese, and water from a septic tank. You're lucky I didn't touch it, or I'd be dead by now and you could forget getting your slaves back."

Pitch brought his face closer to the bars and Tooth leaned hers away. "Gah!" she cried, covering her nose with her hands. "Do you _ever _brush your teeth? It smells like something _died _in there!"

Pitch snarled. "Save your pathetic jokes, little bird," he hissed, a sickening smile forming on his lips. "You know exactly what dinner I mean."

"I admit nothing," Tooth replied sharply, folding her arms as best she could with the chains. "And please, just give me some fresh air! It already stinks enough down here!"

He pulled away from the bars with another growl and rose to his towering height. "Laugh while you can, fairy," he spat, turning his back on her and striding away. His voice was soft, but cold. "I'm sending Unknown with one more message. Unless your Guardians come with my children by midnight tonight, your blood will stain my sand." Pitch stopped at the door and turned around. His eyes shone with malignant glee.

Tooth gave him the finger and he left, laughing.

"I'm really starting to hate that guy," she muttered, turning to the corner where Unknown was hopefully still standing. "He's gone. If you're still there, you can come out."

Hesitantly, he shimmered back into existence. After glancing out to check that Pitch was well and truly gone, he sat down on the floor in front of her again. "That was close," he whispered.

"A little, yes," Tooth admitted. "But he didn't find you."

"He found out about dinner," Unknown pointed out guiltily. "He'll be watching me closer now."

Tooth cocked her head and was about to ask if he hadn't heard Pitch's death threats, but she decided not to. It would only serve to make him sadder if he hadn't, and if he had, he didn't need reminders. Or maybe he really just was more worried about dinner. "That's okay," she said. "I appreciate it. I mean, you tried, and that's all that really matters."

He nodded but didn't reply.

Tooth sighed. The silent treatment again. She was really getting tired of it and she wanted to focus on something nicer than Pitch and his not-so-empty threats. "Unknown, what do you know about my Tooth Palace?" she asked, figuring she might as well start a conversation and see where it took her. She knew she had to eventually tell Unknown her plan, but she had to do it delicately otherwise he would vanish and she would end up dead.

He lifted his head and looked at her, curiosity written on his usually inscrutable face. "Not much," he admitted. "Why?"

"Well, I kind of don't want to talk about your wannabe father anymore because in all honesty he gives me the creeps, so I figured that since we're both stuck here I might as well tell you about my home." She stopped, considered her words, and continued almost wistfully. "I guess I just miss it, that's all."

Unknown thought about this for a few moments, then he shrugged. "Okay."

Tooth shifted her position until she was a bit more comfortable, then she began. "Well," she said, instantly and unconsciously slipping into the role of a mother telling a bedtime story to her child, "my palace is nestled in the Himalayan Mountains, right where the ancient kingdom of Punjam Hy Loo once resided."

"What's…Punjam Hy Loo?" It was kind of cute how he tripped up on the pronunciation of the foreign name.

"My mother's ancestral home. She was the fiftieth member of a race known as the Sisters of Flight."

As Tooth continued her story, describing to the fourteen-year-old the beauty of the palace and the story of how it was made, she noticed he was becoming more relaxed and calmer. He wasn't tensing up at every tiny noise, and he even set his staff aside as he listened. He even asked questions. She felt a glowing sense of achievement — he was finally opening up.

Throughout the entire story Unknown was entirely transfixed by the melodic rise and fall of her voice. She had a gift for storytelling — more of a fantastic talent than a gift, actually. She painted pictures of her home in such vivid detail that he could almost feel as if he was there. He'd seen pictures in some of the books from the library of course, but Tooth was the one who brought these images to life.

He loved the story so much that he was immensely disappointed when she finished. "Someday," he said quietly, "can you take me there?"

She was somewhat surprised at this request but satisfied that she had at least given the boy something to hold on to. "Um, yes, of course. Someday."

He nodded, satisfied. "I've always wanted to go somewhere pretty like that." His voice sounded wistful, almost like a small child's. "It's not really pretty here."

"Is it bad?" she asked. She hadn't seen much of the caves, but all underground places had a certain sense of dark, dangerous beauty to them. After ten years, though, it might get kind of boring.

"Not really. It's quiet and dark and has a lot of hiding places. And…" here he hesitated shyly before continuing with a smile on his face. "We can have phones."

At this, Tooth also smiled. Teenagers. Always with the phones. Jack had once begged North for one and he'd agreed, but that particular escapade had ended _very _badly. Let's just say that electronics and ice do _not _mix.

She frowned as she remembered something else. "How does that work, anyway?" she inquired, raising one delicate eyebrow.

"How does what work?"

"You know," she said, waving her hand. "With the electronics. If you have _phones, _why do you use candles?"

He nodded. "Ah," he sighed. "Fath — Pitch doesn't like electric light and Dark absolutely freaks, and…well, truthfully, none of us really like it either. So we have candles."

"But what's with the computers and stuff?" she persisted. "It's not like you have any outlets in the lair. You don't even have _lightbulbs_. How can you guys have computers and phones if there's no way to charge them?"

That wry little grin was back, this time in amusement. "We use Tempest."

Tooth blinked. "Come again?"

The smile widened a little more. "Energy, especially magical energy," he explained, "can be stored in different forms. It can be 'charged' into an object, which will release its energy in the form of an attack, deflection, or any other kind of expulsion. It can even inhabit a person, which means that they have an unlimited supply at their fingertips and can use it at will. A person can channel this from an object or place with magical residue, like a place where an excess of magic was released, or maybe a certain charged object. And they can have a small, untapped reservoir that comes naturally to them and takes a lot of physical energy to use. That's how we, the Nightmare Children, control our powers."

Tooth blinked. "Wow. I never knew all that."

Unknown shrugged. "I get bored and I read in the library. When I do, I learn all sorts of things."

"So, what has this to do with Tempest?" Tooth asked. "I get the whole energy relationship thing, but I thought that just meant _magical_ energy, not electric."

"From what I can tell, there's not much difference. Tempest is unique among us Nightmare Children because her powers are centered around magical _and_ electrical energy. She can channel both, mostly through wind and lightning. Her magic inhabits her and she can tap into it at will, then use it to manipulate her surroundings."

"Cool."

"I'm not finished yet," Unknown said slyly, raising his index finger. "She can also channel her powers through herself _to _an object, such as an iHome or a laptop, and that magical energy — along with her natural electricity — is able to keep things running for months. Think of her as a super-life battery," he said, making Tooth laugh. "She hates charging stuff for us, but she does it because if she doesn't then no one has electronics because she's the only one who's figured out how to do it right. I can do it a little bit," he admitted, "but last time I tried, I blew up Solitude's Xbox console and passed out for three days." He winced and coughed. "Heh. That wasn't good."

Tooth snickered. "I can imagine," she said, picturing the usually languid Solitude having a temper tantrum on the ground next to a sleeping Unknown and the smoking remains of a video game system. "Wow. That was really cool, Unknown. Thanks."

He shrugged that absolutely infuriating shrug — which was actually growing on her and she now thought was quite cute — and said, "I don't really get much of a chance to talk to actual people and when I do, I tend to monologue."

_Oh really? No way! _an echoing, seemingly far away voice whispered, the words carried on the faint breeze that just then swirled around Unknown and flicked one of his hoodie strings. Tooth deduced that she hadn't just imagined it because Unknown frowned at whatever sarcastic invisible presence had dared speak up. She swore she could hear the barest snatches of ghostly giggling.

She couldn't help herself — she laughed with them. "You probably get that from Pitch," she remarked without thinking.

Unknown lapsed into one of his silent sulks once again. Even the ghosts went silent and still. Tooth rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to say, _really? _Okay, okay, maybe she should give the kid a break. There were probably a zillion things running through his mind and his perception of the world had been drastically altered, nearly flipped upside down in fact, in less than forty-eight hours. It would take him some time to get used to the fact that the man who had "taken care of him" for ten years or so wasn't really his father.

After getting his breath back — Unknown hadn't talked that much in…_ever — _Tooth asked him another question.

"Do you like it here?"

He contemplated the question for a while, then he replied. "It's not as bad as it sounds. It's lonely, yeah, but Fath — Pitch treats us okay."

"Except that his disciplinary methods might be a bit over the top," Tooth quoted another of the Nightmare Children. This time it was Tempest. _Wow. I never thought I would do something like quoting the storm-bringer, _she thought with a smile.

It didn't go unnoticed. "You sound — "

"Like Tempest, yeah," she finished. "She said that the first day, when Danger came."

Another silence drifted over them. "Unknown, what do you think of your siblings?" Tooth asked suddenly. She needed to start telling him about her plan and soon, but she had to do it subtly. He was a strange child and she didn't know how he would react when she told him. Still, she had to do it soon.

He shrugged. "They don't really like me, and the feeling's mutual," he replied. "They think I'm weak, I think they're a bunch of war-crazed idiots." He considered this, and added to it. "And in Danger's case, an _insane_ war-crazed idiot."

Tooth had to smile at that. "She is a bit…energetic."

"Oh, you haven't seen her snowboard," Unknown put in with that wry smile back on his face. "Give her a Mountain Dew, a pair of gloves and a board and she goes absolutely nuts."

Tooth's heart leaped at his choice of words. Yes! This was the chance she was waiting for! "Yeah, I can imagine. Oh, and speaking of Dew…I must thank you for helping us with the second battle."

He had the decency to look modest. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, coughing.

"Don't you?" she inquired, giving him a curious, mischievous look.

A few seconds' silence, then, "How did you find out?"

"The Mountain Dew. Pain let it slip that they'd been drinking soda the night before, and Pitch doesn't seem like the type to present his soldiers with _that _much caffeine."

That grin pecked at his lips again. "I do like my Dew."

"It was very brave, risking yourself to defy Pitch and send out your siblings incapacitated," Tooth said carefully. "Brave and smart."

Unknown seemed somewhat taken aback by this, but he kept his poker face and denied it. "Brave?" He shook his head, as if too doubtful to believe her. "No, I'm not. No way. I ran when Tempest was captured. I hide from the people who live with me. Darkness help me, I can't even _talk_ without scaring myself half to death; I'm not — "

"You're here, aren't you?" she asked, giving him the "mother eyes" again. This was the time to introduce him to the plan she'd concocted. But she would have to be very, very careful. "And you don't have to stop there."

His hood shifted back when he looked up and his eyes were no longer hidden in the impenetrable shadow. They shone out as two silver orbs, hopeful and inquisitive. "What do you — "

"You know very well what I mean." He did, she could tell. "You don't _have _to stop being brave. You don't have to live under Pitch's thumb for the rest of your life and the only way you can get out is to fight back. Be brave."

Unknown didn't look convinced and she hadn't expected him to be. She pressed on. "You know that Pitch has my fairies, don't you?"

"Yes, but — "

"You need to get to them, talk to them. I've already told them their part; all you need to do is yours."

Oh, how had they gone from talking about magic and palaces to being confused beyond belief? "My part? But I — "

"Unknown." Tooth's eyes were hard as she took on the commanding, no-nonsense tone that could make three-hundred-year-old elementals beg for mercy and ex-Cossacks to grovel at her feet. "Listen to me. I don't have much time. Neither of us do. If this doesn't work or if you don't help me, I can guarantee that this isn't going to end peacefully. Not just the exchange but the entire war as a whole. We can end it if you — "

"We," he repeated flatly. His eyes were wide, like two silver moons.

She sighed. "Yes, we. I need your help."

His mouth opened to object, then it closed. Tooth was going to speak, but he held up a hand and she suddenly lost herself in the silence. Unknown was still, his head down and his mouth creased in a stony scowl. She started to fear that she might have been wrong about him this entire time, but then he spoke. "Why do you need me to talk to your fairies?"

"It's complicated," she admitted. "But the simplest reason is, I need to get out of here. We can't let Pitch make the exchange, and if you talk to my fairies I'll be able to get out."

"But they're in a jar," he protested, trying desperately to figure out how exactly she'd be able to get out simply by talking to her fairies. "And you're in _there. _How — "

"Just trust me," she said, raising her hands. "They'll do it. All you have to do is talk to them. It doesn't matter what they say or do. Just talk to them. All will be made clear then, I swear."

He knew, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, that even talking about this kind of thing was treason. But this beautiful fairy-woman in front of him was making it very hard to think. She looked so sad and desperate behind bars that he couldn't bring himself to answer and, to save himself, he disappeared from sight and closed his eyes. He couldn't look at her anymore and it was just as bad to have _her _looking at _him. _She looked so _sad _and she sounded like she had wanted to help him so much! No one had ever tried to help him or even talked to him as much as she did. Fists clenched in frustration, he stood up, turned his back on her, and, before melting into the shadows, said quietly, "I'll think about it."

Tooth, who had initially felt shock and worry when he vanished, allowed herself a small smile. "That's all I ask," she replied, even though she was pretty sure he was gone.

Her plan was finally going to be put into progress. About time, too…

XxXxX


	14. Warning

**_I FINISHED LIKE 5 CHAPTERS OVER SRPING BREAK STILL HAVENT CAUGHT UP WIHT ALL THE UPDATES THAT HAPPENED IN LIKE THE PAST YEAR THAT MY FANFIC PRESENCE HAS BEEN LETHARGIC AND NO I DONT THINK ILL MANAGE TO FINISH ALL OF THEM BUT I WILL TRY IN THE MEANWHEIL HAVE MY FAVORIT ECHAPTER IM NOT DRUNK DONT WORRYY BUT PLS TAKE MY WORD FOR IT DO NTOT EAT MORE THATN 1 CONTTSAINER FO SOURR ICEBREAKERS IN 1 SITTING_**

* * *

><p><em>Coward. Coward. Coward.<em>

The voices would not cease repeating the word. They were incessant, unrelenting, condemning — and the worst part was, they were talking about him.

_It's true, isn't it? _Unknown asked himself, clenching his fists and teeth. _I'm a coward. A nobody. I'm not good for anything. When she asked me for my help what did I do? I turned tail and ran like a weak little child. That's all they think I am, a weak little child._

_ They're right._

He sighed and curled himself up tighter on the flat, dirty mattress that was his bed. He'd stayed like this since he'd run from Tooth when she had asked him to find her fairies. He still didn't know what she hoped to achieve by sending him to simply talk with them. They probably hated him for betraying their mother and stuffing them in that can, so what she would gain by sending him to talk to them was beyond him.

Unknown sighed again. He had to stop cowering in the shadows sometime, didn't he?

_Sure, _he thought darkly. _Like that's going to happen. Brave just isn't a word in my vocabulary._

It was thoughts like these that, even in those simple days when the world hadn't been upside down, occupied most of his waking moments and even some of his sleeping ones. He was a coward. He'd only given the others the soda because he was bitter and wanted them to fail. Then maybe, just maybe — so long as he could summon the courage — he could slip into the Pole, rescue his siblings, and kill the Guardians while he was at it. Then Pitch would've seen what a good "son" he could be — even a _hero_. He'd read about heroes. Only after his sisters had been captured had he ever dared think he could be one.

But all that was nothing more than a long-ago daydream, as he now knew that Pitch was nothing like a father at all and he didn't care if he was proud of him or not. Now the only one relying on him was Tooth…

"I don't care. I don't care. I don't care," he whispered over and over again, tucking his head in tighter. _I don't care about Tooth or Pitch or the fairies or the Guardians or my siblings. I only care about myself. I don't care!_

Complete and total lie. Just because he'd been alone for almost all his life didn't mean he didn't care about people.

_I care about Tooth, _his traitorous brain said before he could stop it.

He tried to fight it. _No! I don't! She's a prisoner! A prisoner —_

_ A prisoner just like me._

Unknown sighed bitterly once again, curling himself up as tight as possible and touching his blanket. He'd had the scrap of fabric for literally as long as he could remember, pretty much ever since Pitch had woken him up and told him the name he hated. He'd never even considered getting rid of the thing, even as the hems started unraveling and the color went from greyish-yellow to just grey, because it was still as soft as ever and he'd made a habit of holding it whenever he found his own voice telling himself how horrible he was. His siblings, as they'd all gotten older, had poked fun at him for having a "safety blanket", but he didn't care. Add it to the list of things they could hate him for — never really growing up.

_His siblings. _Gods, why couldn't he have just _not _thought about them? It would've been better to just think about the stupid blanket instead of _everything else. _His siblings meant the battle, the battle meant the Guardians, the Guardians meant Tooth, and Tooth meant running and hiding and not knowing whether he should take the risk. And running and hiding and not knowing…

Meant himself. Himself and the voices and his own stupidity and cowardice.

Something wet and warm traced itself down his cheek and caught on his lip, filling his mouth with a familiar salty taste. He didn't like to cry but it was just yet another weakness of his, just something else that he hated himself for. "They were right. They were all right! I'm useless!"

_No, Unknown._

He snapped his head up. That was Tooth's voice speaking in his mind, whether telepathically or from a memory, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything anymore, really.

_You aren't useless._

"How do you know?" he demanded of the voice, getting shakily to his feet. He clenched his fists in an attempt to keep in the burning anger inside — though if he was angry with Pitch, Tooth, or himself, he had no idea. Probably all three. "How do you know who I am?"

_I know, _Tooth's melodic, yet somehow haunting voice said, _because I see. I see a kind boy, ruled by fear. I see a beating heart amidst a writhing mass of powers that aren't yours. I see a human, wrapped in the guise of a spirit. You weren't made for this._

"Obviously I was," he growled. The tears were hot on his cheeks. "This is what I am. I can't change it."

_You're wrong. You can._

"How?" he demanded, feeling his heart tighten in a lethal mix of anticipation and frustration. He knew what she would say. _Free me, and the world will become wonderful and perfect!_ He was nothing but the means to an end for her. Just like for Pitch, except now he'd be a pawn for a different player. Tooth needed to get out, and Pitch wanted war. Both would use him to get what they wanted, and then they'd just throw him away. Right?

_Wrong again. Just go find my fairies. They'll help you._

Unknown scowled. _"Help_ me? Why would _they_ want to help _me?"_

_I'm so sorry. I should have told you earlier. _Her voice, even as it was in his mind, was so soft and sad. It almost broke Unknown's heart to hear it. _They will help me, but they'll help you too. If you just go to them, they will help you find your memories._

Unknown's heart almost stopped beating. His memories. _They could get his memories? _"H — how?" he asked shakily. His whole body was tingling at the prospect of seeing his memories for the first time and he was a little angry with himself for ever thinking Tooth could be like Pitch. She wanted to help him, and this proved it!

Right?

_They have their instructions. All you must do is find them._

"Find them?"

_Find them. Just find them, and you will finally learn who and what you really are._

XXXXXXXXX

Later, he would recall that maybe, just maybe, shadow traveling directly to Pitch's bedchambers without checking if the Nightmare King was actually _in_ said bedchambers was kind of a stupid idea. But lucky for him, he was still invisible. He was lucky because when he emerged out of the shadows and his vision cleared, he was almost sent falling back into the shadows as a muttering Pitch Black swept right past him. A mere two inches was the distance between Pitch's arm and Unknown's quarterstaff.

Gasping involuntarily, he scrambled backwards. Pitch's stream of muttering and his quick stride across the room both immediately stopped, and he turned to peer suspiciously into the corner where his invisible charge was pressing his body up against the wall. He could sense the fear.

_I am not afraid._

The words themselves did very little to ease Unknown's terror. But what did something was the small spell that he managed to mentally throw up just as Pitch started investigating the source of the fear. Said spell was meant to be one used in healing, but for now it would work. It numbed one's mind and body; dulled emotions and feelings so that they would feel little to nothing, whether it was mentally or physically. It would usually require a power-infused amulet or a wand or something of the sort for a mortal to use, but Unknown was no longer entirely mortal and already had enough power inside of him to sustain such a spell.

Instantly a cool wave of calm and peace washed over him. A numbness, which started out as a strange tingling in his fingers and toes, crept up his limbs. The dim room and Pitch's scowling face took on a fuzzy, almost bluish tint. _It's working_, he realized with relief when he felt the magic pulling small threads of energy from inside him and saw the confusion spread across the Nightmare King's face.

Pitch cursed in some language that Unknown didn't recognize, shook his head, and turned away. "I need a rest," he grumbled, stalking towards the mahogany desk in the corner and collapsing into the chair. "Maybe a cup of tea. A steaming cup of herbal tea. Or coffee. Yes, coffee. Nice, rich, black coffee…"

There was a flash of movement from a certain jar resting on the bedside table as two small green hummingbirds inside their glass prison sent Pitch some very naughty gestures, twittering mockingly. He glared at them and, almost faster than the eye could follow, darted over to the table, snatched up the jar, and started to shake it with a fury that Unknown had seen only briefly when his siblings were being particularly irritating.

"Shut up! Shut up shut up _shut up!" _Pitch yelled as he shook the jar. The poor fairies were jostled about like beads in a rattle and by the time Pitch set them down again, one of them had been knocked unconscious. The other was chirping weakly and flying in disoriented circles. "There," Pitch said, satisfied as he set the jar down on the table again. "That should be enough."

The little fairy that was still awake gave him the finger. Scowling, Pitch flicked the jar, sending her reeling back in surprise until she knocked her head on the glass behind her and sank to the bottom of the jar beside her sister.

"Just like your mother," Pitch said contemptuously. "I can smell your fear, little fairies. And I shall have so much fun with you," he added, bending down until they were at eye level with him. His voice was low and malicious and almost _eager. _"Once your dear mother is gone."

The fairy wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. Pitch turned away and, with his typical evil smirk, pulled out a large piece of yellowing paper and a black quill from an old-fashioned inkwell, sat down at the desk, and began to write. Several times he stopped and thought, before nodding and continuing. Finally he finished whatever it was, put the quill back in the inkwell, rolled up the piece of paper, and tied it with a small ribbon of nightmare sand.

"The message is ready," he said to himself overdramatically, standing up. "Now, to find the messenger…"

Even in the strange, emotionless, numbed state, Unknown instantly knew who said messenger was. That same messenger had already been sent back to the Pole once. _I don't have much time, _he told himself as Pitch left the room.

The two fairies in the jar hesitantly raised their heads, watching the Boogeyman leave. When he was well and truly gone, they turned to each other and started up what Unknown assumed was a conversation, a conversation made up of incomprehensible squeaks and punctuated with many hand movements. They were obviously still a little afraid, but now they were trying to do something about it. They also kept looking up at the ceiling, as if they were waiting for someone. For him, maybe?

There was no use for the numbing spell anymore, so Unknown cut the thin trickle of energy being used to power it. He kept himself concealed from sight, though — who knew if these two fairies were really in on this whole memory deal? So invisibly and as quietly as he could manage, he made his way across the room and crouched in front of the fairies' jar.

Then he raised his hand and rapped lightly against the glass.

They froze for a second, then they started looking frantically around, squeaking nervously. _Now_ they were scared. Unknown sighed, placed one hand over the jar's lid, and released his invisibility.

If they were scared before, they were absolutely _terrified _now. He didn't blame them. There they were, trapped inside a jar, and there he was, tapping the glass while invisible and then materializing out of thin air _right in front of them._ He guessed that people generally didn't like it when a creepy hooded boy materialized into existence seemingly out of nothing.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

The fairies stopped and peered at him, conversing quickly to each other without taking their nervous violet eyes off his. The one on the left side said something, and the other nodded. Left mimed a picture with her hands and squeaked for emphasis, and Right smiled. She fluttered up to the glass and placed one hand on it, motioning that Unknown do the same. Gingerly, he touched the other side of the glass.

A bright purple vein of electricity, which came from the fairy's tiny hand, seemed to pass through the glass and to Unknown's finger. The glass grew shockingly hot and he recoiled, staring down at his finger. It was a strange shade of silverish-purple that was quickly fading back to its normal ash white.

_So Mother has come in contact with you. Good._

Unknown stared at the two fairies and the high, melodic voice that he supposed came from them, or at least one of them. "You can…"

_Usually we only converse telepathically with Mother, _the fairies said, smiling in sync, _but today we'll make an exception._

_ I suppose we made the right decision, _said a singular voice that seemed to come from only one of the fairies.

_No, Mother did, _insisted the other, clearly the one on the left. _She was the one to first trust You-Know-Who-But-You-Really-Don't._

"What?" Unknown asked, crouching again. He'd heard of "You-Know-Who" of course, but "You-Know-Who-But-You-Really-Don't"? That was definitely new.

_Forgive Bava, _said the fairy on the right. _She's just grumpy. That's her name for you — You-Know-Who-But-You-Really-Don't. She thinks she's so clever and couldn't wait to rub it in your face, so that's why._

_ You're going to pay for that nasty bump you gave me when you stuffed me inside that stupid can, _said Bava sullenly, folding her arms. _I'm never gonna drink Mountain Dew again._

_Ignore her, dear, _the other called. _We all hold our grudges, you know — after all, it is in our dear Mother's nature and since we are technically parts of her, we take after her._

_ Bellon, if we're going to go with Mother's plan, can't we just get to the point? _Bava whined. _The kid's obviously short on time. You know he's the "messenger" that Black was talking about._

_ Yes, right, _said Bellon, blushing. _Sorry. Just me running off at the mouth again. Hehe._

Yup. They were definitely Tooth's. The fairies' conversation moved so fast that Unknown could barely keep up with it, even in his head. "What should I do?" he asked as softly as he could manage.

The two fairies pointed down, supposedly to the bedside table on which their jar rested. _They're inside the drawer, dear, _said Bellon.

_I hope you know how to pick locks, _Bava offered begrudgingly. _Moon knows where Black put the key. The man doesn't even seem to have any pockets, for Manny's sake!_

Unknown allowed himself a small smile, then he frowned and bent down to inspect the locked drawer. Like all the Nightmare Children, he'd learned about lock picking. This lock was a smaller one and built into the drawer, similar to the one on the pantry. And, darkness help him, he'd broken into that one so many times that it was actually shocking that he still remained so skinny.

(This was because his powers took so much out of him that it stole away the nutrients from what food he did eat, hence stunting his growth and giving his physical needs the bare minimum fulfillment while still giving him the sensation that he was full. It worked along the same lines as Tempest's powers, which didn't extract much from her physical energy while she was awake but instead pulled out their energy while she was sleeping, hence her very deep sleeping patterns. It was a very strange concept, one that I would gladly delve deeper into if there was not now a more important task at hand.)

The room was almost literally coated with black sand due to Pitch spending so much of his time in it. The tiny granules were everywhere, layered in a light dusting except for where small drifts formed against the wall. Unknown reached out to a small pile against the wall that wouldn't be missed and brought it to his hand. As he touched the lock, he sent the nightmare sand into the keyhole, twisting it around to find and disable the tiny tumblers inside.

Within a minute of tense concentration, the lock clicked open. Bava looked shocked, and Bellon crossed her arms and said, _I told you so._

Almost gingerly, Unknown opened the drawer. And, just as the fairies had said, there were twelve tooth boxes inside, lined up in a row. It was obvious which one was his — it was the last one on the far right, and even if he hadn't known this, he would have recognized the child's face painted on the end. There was little resemblance between the painted portrait of the child and the one he was now, but the artist had captured the curiosity in the almost exotic eyes that he'd seen on those few occasions when he looked into a mirror — very similar, they were, except this boy's eyes were dark. Dark brown. Had he really had brown eyes?

The two fairies nodded frantically. _Go on, go on, _they urged. _Touch it._

The iridescent tiles on the box seemed to call him, echoing the fairies' words. So, bracing himself for the worst, Unknown touched them.

And then, in a blinding flash of light that swept away every speck of nightmare sand in the room, he was ripped into the past. The last thing he heard were Bava and Bellon wishing him good luck.

_I'm going to need it._

XXXXXXXXX

He was hungry. That was the first thing he felt. So he did what any infant would do in his position — he opened his mouth and cried his lungs out. A pretty, fair-haired woman whom he guessed was his mother came to his rescue, and he found himself wrapped in a soft yellow blanket and sucking watery milk. Yummy, that was his first thought. Yummy and warm and safe.

He saw a young man who he supposed was his father coming in, looking very tired but happy to be home. The man had dark hair and dark eyes, just like his own. He heard laughter and felt smiles within his family, though the room in which they all lived was dim and shabby and small. He felt happiness.

_Tooth was right, _he thought as many memories whisked by, each one more detailed and accurate than the last. _They did love me._

He felt himself growing older — he must be at least two by now! — heard his first words (which was "food" curiously), saw his first steps, remembered it all somehow…but at the same time, didn't feel himself growing much bigger. He saw his mother taking him to a place that he knew was a doctor's office, heard them conversing with big words that he didn't yet know but remembered anyway. He'd seen some of those words on books and things. He didn't know how he knew them.

The white-coated, dark-haired doctors said that he was not a normal child. They said he had a "disorder". They said he might never learn to talk right, or hold a pencil right, or do things like ride a bike. His mother, so light and pretty and defiant, yelled at them and cried, saying that her Takeshi is a normal child, and if not, he is better. Unknown felt pride in the bold English-born woman who had been his mother. He wished he could have thanked her, but two-year-old Takeshi did nothing but watch with wide eyes.

"He is intelligent beyond his age and might not be as physically strong or fast as other children, but he is mine! He is not just a mistake! He — he can't have a disorder! He is made in the image of God just like you and me and you can't say otherwise!" she snapped angrily in a somehow familiar language. Japanese. He was Japanese, and he was hers.

But the doctors, as hard as they tried, couldn't make the term "autistic spectrum disorder" sound any friendlier, and he and his mother left, the latter crying all the way home. A loving mother never likes to hear that her child is anything but perfect.

His parents grew worried, stressed, and thinner than ever. Daddy sometimes didn't come home at night. And when he did, they stayed up late into the night, talking about bills, payments, the extra jobs Daddy worked now because he'd lost the first one, and the cost for the special stupid teachers Takeshi had to go to and the weird pills he had to take every day. He remembered not liking the pills at all. They were big and they tasted weird when he chewed them and they made him have to go to the bathroom a lot. He hated the teachers more because they spoke really slow and treated him like a baby. He wasn't a baby anymore; he was almost three years and potty-trained. And they always smiled and he knew they were fake smiles, somehow, for some reason. The worst part was that they didn't do anything for him. He knew he was fine, maybe a bit small and shy and spacey and a bit slower to react to some things, but fine. The doctors didn't understand.

He saw himself sitting on top of a narrow, steep staircase with his favorite yellow blanket — Mama called it the ducky blanket because it was the exact same color as a little yellow duckling — wrapped around him. He sat there many times when he couldn't sleep, listening to his parents converse in their tense whispers while fingering the soft blanket and sliding his toes across the rough carpet. He never said anything, never even dared venture past that top step. But once, when it was especially dark, his bare foot slipped and he went tumbling down the stairs.

He felt blinding terror as he fell, followed by sharp pains in his limbs and mouth and a strange, warm, metallic-tasting liquid rushing around his teeth and tongue and past his lips. Blood. The doctors had taken blood from him in the hospital. He heard the cries of his parents as they fluttered around him, and then their sighs of relief as he sat up, shaking his head and spitting the strange red liquid out, feeling perfectly fine if not a little dazed. For some reason there was a hole in his teeth (_so that's why I didn't have a tooth there until I was twelve, _Unknown thought to himself).

They took him to the doctor's office, but he was mostly unharmed, beside a few bruises and the lost tooth — they called it a canine tooth, for some reason. It didn't look like a dog tooth, he remembered thinking. It wasn't big or sharp enough. As they went home, he asked his mother for the tooth, and somewhat confused, she gave it to him. It was still in one piece, so he tried putting it back into the hole in the side of his mouth. His parents just laughed weakly and said he couldn't put it back.

"Not even with glue?" he remembered asking.

They just laughed again and told him what he really had to do with a tooth.

And the next morning, he had woken up with a little 100-yen coin under his pillow and a gap-toothed grin on his two-year-old face.

(With the coin, along with some others he had saved up, he bought a chocolate bar.)

As he grew older, he stopped going to the stupid smiling teachers and his mother started to teach him from a series of special books — they were very big books with very big words, but not hard. He would not go to a regular school. When he turned five, he would go to a special school with special classes for children like him. Hyperlexics, they were called. But his mother was not always home to teach him, and soon she had to start working just like Daddy did. Little Takeshi would be home alone, so Mama had to pay a nice young lady from the downstairs apartment to watch and teach him. Her name was Hitomi, she always loved to watch him, and she had the prettiest eyes. They were big and dark and looked almost purple in the right kind of light.

_Tooth has purple eyes,_ he thought as he watched his mother come and go from the apartment and felt himself running forward to hug her before she went off to work. But he started to notice a change. First she was thin as always, then a small protrusion appeared from her stomach. The swelling protrusion became bigger with every passing day and Mama became more and more tired, needing him and Daddy to help her get around. She tried going to work whenever she could, but oftentimes she had to stay home.

But one day, after a long stretch of time during which he had not seen either her or Daddy for almost four days, they came home smiling and holding a small infant in a bundle of blue blankets. Makito, they called him. A delighted Hitomi took a picture from her phone, and soon the Itou family had their first real family photo. They hadn't had the time or money to take one earlier.

But Makito brought his challenges, too. Mama soon had to quit her job because she wasn't getting enough sleep. They had to sell their big apartment and move into a smaller, cheaper one. Daddy, working two jobs now, was barely ever home and Takeshi missed him. They didn't have much money anymore. Sometimes everyone went to bed with only a little bit of food in their stomachs and tears in their eyes. Hitomi could no longer be paid, and after hugging Takeshi and Mama and Daddy goodbye, she left. They never saw her again; she had gone out to find work somewhere else.

Time passed.

Takeshi turned four and Makito turned one, but no one celebrated much. Mama and Daddy grew more tired and angrier with every passing day. Sometimes, when they thought that the children were asleep, they would argue at night about money and the boys and whether or not they should move again, maybe to a place where Daddy could find a better job.

He never said anything, but his parents knew that their oldest son had heard them. How could he not, when the walls of his tiny bedroom were barely an inch thick and they hadn't just been arguing, but screaming, throwing things at walls, slamming doors and leaving for the night? Sometimes Daddy would be gone in the morning, or it would be Mama. Even one time, he got up early in the morning and there was nobody home, just himself and baby Makito.

It had felt like the most scared he'd ever been in his entire life — even worse than when he fell down the stairs. He hadn't even really cried that last time. But this time, he couldn't help it. He saw the baby whining in the crib, looked into his parents' bedroom and saw only rumpled sheets on the empty bed, peered out the window into the pouring rain and heard sirens. And he was so scared that he couldn't help but cry — and not just cry, but scream.

He screamed and screamed like he'd never stop. And he didn't care. Makito heard him and started to scream with him, but Takeshi just screamed louder. He clawed at the silver door handle, trying to open it, but it kept slipping. He wasn't strong enough. And so, he screamed even more.

Then there came the pounding of footsteps, and his mother's voice on the other side of the door. It cracked open and she appeared, an angel in a dirty windbreaker and jeans. An angel who held him close and made him special warm cocoa for breakfast. It had only been a few minutes away from her, but the few lonely minutes had felt like years to him.

"I'm sorry, Takeshi," Mama had said, kissing his forehead. "Please don't cry. I promise I won't let this happen again. Me and Daddy still love each other; we're just having some disagreements. It's going to be okay."

No, it's not, he wanted to cry, but he didn't because the baby had fallen back asleep and he didn't want to wake him.

Daddy didn't come back for three days, and when he did, he was slipping on everything (heehee — he liked that word. Slipping. Slippery. Daddy was slippery) and his words sounded weird and he smelled really, really bad. He threw up in the sink and Mama took care of him like she did for Takeshi when he was sick.

That night, the nightmares began to come.

They were strange things that didn't seem real at all, but scared him all the more. He would be running through a dark alley behind a group of eleven other children, all of them older than him. Then they would fade into wisps of shadow, and he would trip and fall onto a strange ground that seemed to be made up of shifting black sand. He would hear his parents' shouting voices echoing all around him, even though he didn't see them. But when he got up, he would see the worst thing of all. A mirror. And he would see his reflection, except it wasn't him in the mirror — it was a bone-thin boy with white hair and silver eyes and black clothes and desperation written across his ashen face.

_Me._

Sometimes, he would hear a voice. Now he knew it was the voice of the being that had claimed to be his father for ten years, but then he had no idea. It was silky smooth and had some strange accent, and it never said the same thing twice. Most of the time, it simply whispered things that didn't sound like words he knew. But once, on the last night that he had these dreams, he heard it say clearly: "Oh yes. You will definitely do, child of fear."

On that same night, he saw the figure that spoke it before he woke up, if only for a glance.

It was the last night he had the nightmares, because the next night, he did not sleep at all. He stayed up, listening to Mama and Daddy argue again as he crouched in front of his mostly-closed door with his blanket wrapped around him. He did not know why he ever wanted to listen to them. Their tense voices only brought more fear into his heart. He heard things that he wished he had not.

This night, when they were more tired than angry, and when Daddy seemed slippery but not too slippery, it was this: "Sometimes I wonder if we should never have had them."

"Had what?" Mama asked in reply.

"The boys," said her husband, tripping over the words. "Makito's…forcing you to stay home from work and Takeshi's — next to hopeless. We can't pay for the special school, and he wouldn't make it through regular school. The teachers wouldn't know how to handle him, and God knows what the bullies would do! You know how they target kids like him!"

Mama seemed distressed by this, but she didn't disagree. "Well…if Takeshi had been a normal child, then maybe we would be able to support both of them easier."

"But that's where our problems started, didn't they? With Takeshi?"

"So now you're blaming him?" Mama's voice started to rise, and even though Takeshi could barely see her through his cracked-open bedroom door, he saw her scowl. His heart started to pound so loudly that he feared that they would hear him. "_You're _the one who's running off on us, getting drunk every other night, and now you want to blame my children for your problems?"

"I'm not blaming him, I'm just — " Daddy sighed and ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair. "You're right, I am blaming him. I love them both, I love you, I don't regret having them, but sometimes I just — I just wonder if it would be easier if we hadn't — I'm just so exhausted, I'm not thinking straight…"

Mama sighed, then reached across the table and touched the back of his hand gently. "I understand. We'll figure out something, maybe when you're less intoxicated. Now let's get you to bed."

He nodded, and together they got up and went into their room. Takeshi was shivering now, his eyes wide as he stayed crouched in front of his mostly-closed bedroom door. They didn't want him, did they? They just thought he was a burden! Well, he'd show them! He'd become the best son anyone in the world had ever had! He would make them stop fighting and show them that he wasn't just a burden, he was a warrior and live up to his name, and…

Doubt began to creep over him and he clutched at the duck blanket again, chewing on the worn fabric and trying to keep himself from crying. What was the use? He was just a kid, and a useless one at that. _"Autistic". "Disabled." "Mentally retarded". "Different"._ He hated the words and yet knew they were true, because the doctors had said so and doctors didn't lie. Kids like him didn't have a future without someone to help them there.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Takeshi Itou."

He gasped and swerved around to the source of the voice. It was the voice from his nightmares, and this in front of him, standing in what little floor space of the closet-sized bedroom there was, was that man. The shadow man. The same one from his nightmares!

The man looked out the window from where he stood in the shadows. The moon shone through the shades, casting horizontal shafts of light on the floor. The man didn't even dare show a foot to the light.

"I can change it for you," he continued in that strangely pleasant voice. "You don't have to fear the future if I've set it in stone. Better to die a hero than live a coward, hmm?"

"Who — who are you?" the four-year-old asked, his voice quavering.

The tall man smiled, almost as if he was amused. His eyes were like two eclipsed suns shining in the dark, and twice as malevolent.

"It depends on how you see me," he replied, his voice like silk. "If you obey me, I could be your only hope. But if you don't…"

The smile — horrible, villainous thing it was — spread even wider.

_ "I'll be your worst nightmare."_

The man snapped his fingers, and everything went pitch black.

XXXXXXXXX

Falling, falling, falling…

Blinding light seared his vision. And then, like he'd never been away, he found himself back in Pitch's room, holding a golden cylinder. His hands were sweating and before he could help himself the container tumbled from his limp fingers, clattering in the drawer again amongst his "siblings' " teeth boxes. He felt numb with shock and all he could say in a hoarse, ragged breath was his name. His _real _name.

"Takeshi Itou," he gasped. "Takeshi Itou…"

Both fairies squeaked in concern, even the cynical Bava. _Did you see them? Are you all right? _they asked in sync, pressing up against the glass.

Unknown stared at the box on the floor. _"Kanojo wa tadashikatta," _he whispered before his brain could adjust. She was right. Tooth…was right. He'd been mortal. He had a _family…_

The fairies stared at him in confusion. Spirits, Tooth Fairies in particular, are able to cross any language barrier at will, so they understood him perfectly. But they were wondering why exactly he had just reverted to Japanese. They exchanged a glance with each other, conversed quickly, decided what had happened, and both tapped the glass to get his attention.

_Unknown, _Bellon called telepathically, making sure that she was thinking Japanese. _Listen. Snap out of it._

He frowned at them as if they were doing cartwheels in the jar — which is to say, confused and a bit weirded out. _"Nani?"_

_ Pitch tampered with your mind when he stole you away, _Bellon explained patiently. _Finding your memories reverted your default language back to Japanese._

_ So speak ENGLISH, _Bava said slowly.

He closed his eyes, then opened them and nodded. "I have to do something."

Bava rolled her eyes. _Then do it. Don't just stand there._

Bellon punched her sister on the arm.

"No, she's right," Unknown said. "I can't just hide anymore."

He clenched his fists and looked at the scroll resting on the desk.

"I can _do _something."

XXXXXXXXX

The Guardians were arguing again. Big surprise.

It appeared that the memory-wiping magic that Sandy had slipped them had completely backfired, seeing as they remembered nothing of their argument, hence just starting over. It was very déjà vu-ish to the plump little dreammaker. He was just about to knock them all out again when a Yeti burst into the council room, hollering.

"What is it?" asked North. "Is the Twelfth Child back?"

And to all of their surprises, the Yeti nodded.

When the four Guardians emerged from the council room in all of their weapon-wielding glory, they found Unknown just sitting at a table and sipping a (probably stolen) cup of eggnog. He wasn't even holding his staff; it was leaning next to him against the table. When he saw them, he calmly set down the eggnog, picked up a yellow-ish grey scroll that had been sitting on the table, made his way over to the Guardians, and held the scroll out to them. He was seemingly unfazed by all of the weapons being pointed at him and even Jack sensed there was something different about the boy. He'd lost most of that wary, almost _hunted_ look and even his hood, though still up, was back a little farther than usual.

No one made any moves to accept the offered scroll. It was tied with a black ribbon that was seemingly woven of nightmare sand, and they had no doubts about who it was from simply because of that. "It's from Pitch," Unknown said unnecessarily. "Take it."

"It could be a trick," hissed Bunny to North in a very audible whisper.

"Fine. I'll open it," replied Unknown. He did so, and when nothing happened, he handed it to North. North accepted it and read it over, with the other Guardians looking over his shoulder.

_To the remaining Guardians, _it read in spidery black handwriting. The third word was almost painful to see.

_If you are reading this, know that your beloved Toothiana is at risk because of you.  
>By failing to reply to my previous terms, you have forced me to issue a deadline,<br>which my incompetent son failed to address in his last visit to your North Pole._

_The deadline and the terms are as follows: If you do not bring the children — ALL  
>of the children — to my lair by midnight, then I will be forced to kill Toothiana.<br>There will be guards watching you from the second you step foot in Burgess Forest,  
>so do not try anything or she dies.<em>

_Once more shall I repeat it: midnight, or the five Guardians shall become four._

The black script cut off there. North lowered the parchment and exchanged a grim glance with the other three.

"I don't think we have a choice anymore," Bunny said.

Jack nodded reluctantly and glanced down at the scroll. Then he frowned. "North, lemme see that."

Confused, North handed the young winter spirit the parchment. Jack took it and peered carefully at the bottom of the paper. There was a large blank space between Pitch's words and the bottom edge, and Jack had sworn he had seen something shimmering in that space. The barest ghosts of letters and words were almost but not quite visible, making him wonder if there was actually anything there at all.

He brushed his hand over the paper, then almost dropped it. Right where his hand had touched, there were words — words that now darkened to a visible shade of silver and shimmered into legibility on the paper. They were not written in the same hand as Pitch's; these letters were smaller, simpler, and a bit messy.

_make sure you have a way to bring all twelve of us & tooth back to the pole.  
>secure my siblings in case they are still on pitch's side.<em>

_p.s. — the fairies approve._

All was silent as they read the message again and again. They exchanged glances, saying everything they needed to and yet nothing and not enough at all.

"Twelve hours until midnight," said a boy's disembodied, echoing voice. The Guardians all looked up to find that Unknown was no longer there. Even his eggnog was gone. "Think about it."

And then even the voice was gone, leaving the Guardians with nothing but a king's threats and a slave's cryptic message.

XxXxX


	15. Choice

**I lied. It's actually chapter 16 that you'll hate**

* * *

><p>For quite a few minutes after the Guardians received the message, none of them said a word. They just stared at the note in Jack's hand, wondering what it meant and why one of Pitch's children would risk himself to save Tooth. It was confusing, to say the least, and Jack didn't want himself to believe the possibility that there could be an easy way out of this. Those lines at the end had gotten him thinking. Heck, it had gotten them <em>all <em>thinking!

Could it be that Tooth had gotten to the Last Nightmare Child? Had she explained to him that his "father" was only using him? It seemed likely, knowing Tooth. And yet…

"Is this some kind of trick?" Bunny asked, finally breaking the nearly palpable silence.

Jack made a _duh _face. "Bunny, it's obvious. This isn't that kid; it's just Pitch pulling our legs!"

North frowned. "But why would he do that?" he wondered aloud.

Jack sighed with the assumed air of a genius surrounded by idiots. "Because he likes messing with us, that's why!" he replied, waving his hands in the air to make his point. "This is just him again, trying to distract us and make us miss the deadline!"

Bunny wasn't so sure. "And just what about those last lines sounds like the Boogeyman?" he asked sardonically, raising a fluffy eyebrow. "Just look at this this; it's obviously from that Unknown kid. Look — _'all twelve of us'. 'My siblings'. 'Pitch's side'. _And just what about that makes you think that it's Pitch talking here?"

Jack scoffed, not convinced in the least. "It's not that hard to change your writing and pretend like you're someone you're not."

"Not this much," said North, picking up the piece of paper and examining it. "See here. They are by different people, I can tell. This part — " He pointed at the larger chunk of spidery, elaborate black script, " — was written with right hand. But this — " he gestured to the two scrawled lines " — was written with left hand. Even when trying to disguise, Pitch could not manage this."

"Why not?" Jack challenged. "Maybe he's…you know…a kind of person that can write with both hands!"

"Ambidextrous?" North prompted.

"Yeah, that!"

"Jack," Bunny explained as if speaking to a slow person, "Pitch has been right-handed for all the years we've fought him. He's not ambidextrous."

"Then maybe he forced the kid to write those lines!" Jack persisted. "Easy enough to do. The rest of them are scared stiff of him! Well," he amended, glancing at Bunny, "except for that weird girl with the purple eyes. She's too nuts to be scared."

"HEY!" Bunny yelled, leaping to Danger's defense. "She's not nuts! She's just a little — "

"What? Insane? Crazy? Totally gaga?"

"No more than you, ya little — "

Bunny swiped at Jack but the spirit danced away on the wind. "Nuh uh. I'm a civilized human being. Face it Bun-Bun, you've fallen for a loony."

"Jack! Bunny! ENOUGH!" North boomed, silencing the retort that was working its way up into Bunny's throat.

Both spirits stopped and Jack floated back down to the floor, his head lowered shamefully.

"None of this is helping to get back Toothy, and we only have a few hours left!" the big man continued, raising the note for emphasis. "Whether this was written by the Twelfth or not, we need to make preparations. We need to decide what to do with Nightmare Children and we need to do it now."

Bunny nodded guiltily. "You're right, North. Sorry, mate."

"Yeah, sorry," Jack agreed. "But how can we tell who it's from? I still think it's from Pitch, all the way," he added for good measure. "But I'm willing to say for a second that if it's not, what do we do?"

"We have to go make sure. Ask the other Nightmare Children if it is or isn't," North replied. "I, personally, think Twelfth is honest. He helped Toothy's fairy, and I do not doubt that he has met and talked with her."

"What makes you think that they'll tell us the truth?" Jack countered. "They are on his side, remember?"

North's serious face split into a smile. "I'm not so sure about that," he said, looking at Bunny and Jack with a small twinkle in his eye.

Jack and Bunny exchanged glances nervously. "Uh, what d'ya mean, North?" Bunny asked uneasily.

"Well, I have seen you talking with Danger, no?" North said, chuckling. "You seem to be growing quite close."

"W- what?" Bunny stammered, backing up with his paws held up in surrender. "N- no! I don't even like the sheila! Why would you think — "

"Suuuuuure…" Jack drew out the syllable, waggling his eyebrows. "Because I could swear that I saw you two holding hands for a second when you gave her that chocolate egg a few hours ago — "

"And you, Jack," North interrupted, a full smile on his face now, "have been paying much attention to Tempest I have seen. Maybe you two have…talked?"

Jack's face went three shades paler. "Er, I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, obviously trying not to burst out with useless objections. "She is a minion of Pitch and I want nothing to do with her!"

North didn't look convinced, but he allowed his expression to fall. The twinkle in his eyes was still there, though. "Pity," he sighed. "I thought you might be able to get her to tell you whether this note is her brother's or not."

Jack glanced at Bunny again, who sighed heavily. "Mate, we have to," he said, looking very reluctant to do what North was suggesting. "For Tooth."

The winter spirit also sighed. "All right," he said, waving his hands in submission. "Fine, I'll go down and talk to her."

"I'll go with," Bunny offered. "But if I ever hear a word of this from either of you — "

"That goes for me too," Jack added, glaring at North.

North smiled. "My lips are sealed," he promised. Then he turned around and asked, "Now, Sandy, what do you think of our plan?"

But Sandy wasn't there.

"Uh, Sandy?" Bunny called, looking around. "Mate, where'd ya go?"

XXXXXXXXX

"A tiger," said Wrath firmly.

"A cow," Loss guessed.

"A dog?" Pain asked non-committally.

"Dark when he's hungry," Death offered.

"Hey!" Dark objected.

Mostly everyone ignored him and Danger snickered.

"Oh! I know! A _spider!"_ said Shame, giving the Fifth Nightmare Child an infuriating smile and wiggling her fingers like an arachnid's legs.

Danger scowled, her shoulders stiffening. "If you mention that incident I swear I will personally — "

Judgment decided to keep going, if only to save his foolish sisters from continuing. "A horse."

From his strange position on his hands and knees, Solitude sighed mightily and rolled his eyes. "I'm a water buffalo, duh! Yeesh, when was the last time you guys watched Animal Planet?"

Everyone stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"We're done with charades now," Tempest deadpanned.

Solitude got to his feet, grumbling, "Not my fault you guys can't tell it was a water buffalo."

Tempest caught a glint of gold out of the corner of her eye and laughed stiffly. "Haha, yeah…shut up…" The forced laugh had turned to a hiss with surprising speed. She didn't want the Guardians knowing that she and her idiotic siblings had been brought so low as to play charades. That would be plain embarrassing. "We've got company."

The other ten Nightmare Children turned to the cell door, expecting to see the Yetis bringing food. Instead, they found a small golden figure standing in front of the bars with his hands folded in front of him, waiting politely. When he had their attention, he smiled and waved to Suffering, who averted her eyes and shyly waved back. Some people just needed a smile every once in a while.

"What do _you _want?" Wrath, always one to take the offensive, demanded, gripping the bars and glaring down — _way _down — at the smallest Guardian.

"Wrath!" Suffering scolded, but the rebuke went unheard by him.

Sandy met the fiery gaze without flinching. They probably would have stayed locked in this glaring match for eternity had Tempest not intervened. She placed one hand on her brother's shoulder. "Wrath," she said sweetly, "let me handle this."

Sullenly, Wrath stepped back. Tempest crouched down, stuck her hand through the bars, and ruffled Sandy's wild golden hair affectionately. "How's my favorite little dreammaker doing? Aww, don't mind the big bad Wrath, he's just a little pissed today. Like always."

Sandy gave her a look that clearly said _uh huh, _and grinned. Jack was right. Tempest wasn't all bad. None of them were really, just misled.

And maybe a bit on the prickly side, he added for good measure, with a glance at Wrath, who was scowling intensely.

"Sure," the aforementioned Nightmare Child said sarcastically. "You're _not _getting all chummy with the Guardians."

Tempest ignored him and withdrew her hand. "So, what's up?" she asked, wondering if the Guardians had a plan to get their fairy back yet. She knew that it was getting late, and Pitch was not a patient person. He would want the exchange to happen soon.

Sandy conjured up a myriad variety of sand-pictures that whizzed around too fast for her to keep up with. She did catch a scroll, a stick, and something that looked like a mutated hummingbird. One of Tooth's fairies, she guessed. Reluctant to interrupt, she waited for him to finish before laughing and saying, "Sorry, little dude, but I'm horrible at Pictionary."

"Let me try," Suffering offered. She took Tempest's place in front of Sandy and sat cross-legged. Sandy began again.

First he showed a sand-image of Pitch, then Unknown, then an open scroll.

"Father — I mean, Pitch sent Unknown to deliver a message," Suffering translated for the other Nightmare Children. "We know. But why — "

Sandy held up a finger. _Wait. _Then he showed another picture of a scroll and the number two. Then she saw, on a flat plane of sand that was supposed to be ground, seventeen little sand-figures. Twelve of them, eleven children and one fairy, stood in the middle, between four figures that resembled the Guardians on one side and Pitch on the other side. The fairy went over to the Guardians, and the children to Pitch. Then the sand-diorama vanished and was replaced by a clock, with both hands pointing up towards the twelve. This was replaced by the fairy again, and Sandy drew one finger across his throat.

"There was a second message," Suffering said after she thought, "that said if you don't trade us for Toothiana by twelve o' clock, she dies."

Tempest sighed. "Right. I thought it might be something like that. I'm guessing it won't be at noon?"

_12 PM, _Sandy clarified, adding a crescent moon shape for emphasis. He hesitated, trying to figure out how to convey this next part in pictures, but shook his head and turned around. He didn't like writing in sand as much as he liked pictures. Sure, the pictures might be a little confusing at times, but they were faster. Lifting his index finger, he began to write in the air.

_That's not all, _he wrote. _There was a second part to the letter, and Pitch didn't write it. We think that Unknown wrote it after talking to Tooth. He has hinted to a plan that he and Tooth might have. I don't think he knows if you trust us yet._

"So why are you telling us?" Danger asked, her curiosity tempering down her hyperactivity so that she was able to sit still enough to read Sandy's message.

Sandy hesitated again before continuing. _My friends are arguing, _he explained. _They do not think they can trust your brother. They do not think they can trust YOU. I think I know what Tooth's plan is and I trust the boy enough, but I still need to know if I can trust you too._

Wrath snorted. "So do we."

Judgment smacked him upside the head in the way he'd seen some guy do on NCIS. "Ah, shut up."

_If I am right, _Sandy continued, _then Tooth will be concerned about the memories. Unknown said that we should be ready with a way to bring all twelve children and Tooth back to the Pole, and if you will be coming back here, then Tooth is obviously not done. I think she's planning to bring the teeth and retrieve your memories. What do you think?_

Everyone was silent. Then Dark cleared his throat.

"I have no idea what's going on," he said, as if it was obvious.

Sandy frowned. _But I just —_

Suffering raised a hand to stop the golden dream spirit. "He's dyslexic."

"Cursive does murder to my eyes," Dark explained. "Especially cursive in bright gold sand. Written by a glowing gold glitter ball. In a bright room — "

"We get it, Dark," said Death, rolling his eyes.

"Just saying," Dark muttered petulantly.

"I think it's a pretty solid consensus that no one cares."

"Death!" Tempest scolded, trying to hide the obvious smile.

"Sorry…"

Tempest glared at him. Usually, a glare like that from one's younger sister would have been something to laugh at. Not in this case, though. Death wisely said nothing more.

She coughed. "Sorry 'bout that," she said to Sandy. "This many sibs are murder to get along with. You were saying?"

He smiled, nodded, and began writing. The plan was a simple one, and even Wrath had to admit that it was their best chance.

When he was done, the Nightmare Children were all silent. They exchanged glances, and with a few shakes of the heads, shrugs, or nods, they all seemed to come to a unanimous, silent agreement.

"I still have no idea what's going on," said Dark.

Judgment whacked him. "We'll explain later. Shut up."

XXXXXXXXX

The door to the council room banged open. Sandy stood in the doorway alone, his arms folded and a stern look on his face.

The three jumpy Guardians lowered their automatically-raised weapons. "Ah, Sandy," said North, holding out his arms in welcome. "We were just going to look for you!"

"Yeah, where were you mate?" Bunny asked, following the others over to the golden Guardian.

A smile crept up Sandy's golden face. It was not a particularly warm smile. No, this was a smile that belonged on Jack's face, particularly his face right before he was about to execute one of his elaborate pranks.

And everyone knew in a heartbeat that whatever Sandy had done, it was not good.

He lifted his fingers and snapped. It was a silent snap, but it did the trick. Eleven Nightmare Children came out next to and behind him, their arms crossed and grins on their faces. Several Yetis — Phil included — also appeared behind the Nightmare Children and the dreammaker, and a Mini-Fairy whose name just so happened to be Bri fluttered up and landed on Sandy's shoulder.

"You were saying?" Suffering asked, coming up next to Sandy. The silver collar around her neck and the ones around her siblings' necks were still on, thank Moon.

The three Guardians were frozen, and not just because Jack was unintentionally freezing the floor and the air in his shock. "How — how did you get out?" Bunny spluttered, staring with wide eyes from Danger to Sandy and trying not to think about how honest-to-Moon pretty the Fifth Nightmare Child was.

"Easy," said Suffering, smiling timidly at Sandy. The little golden man smirked, as if daring them to ask.

They took the dare. "Sandy," said North quietly, his face colored with the pale tones of shock and betrayal, "why have you done this?"

Sandy's face softened at the sight of the pain in his wounded friend's eyes, and he proceeded in explaining. _I needed to show you something, _he wrote. _We all did._

He held out his hand, glancing pointedly at the message that had started this small mess. After a hesitation, North handed it to him. Wrath was the only one who noticed that the large man's hand tightened slightly around his sword hilt as Sandy passed the paper to Suffering and Tempest.

Tempest and Suffering read the scroll silently, exchanged a glance, and passed it around to their siblings. No one spoke until all eleven Nightmare Children had seen the message, then they gathered in a huddle and began to discuss it quietly. The Guardians were tense as they discussed in low whispers, but Sandy just held up his index finger and gave them a reassuring look that read, _Trust me._

After quite a while, they withdrew from their huddle. Death took the message and stepped forward beside Judgment. The taller boy's chin was tilted somewhat up and his black eyes peered down the large nose, but the smaller teen had lowered his head, his amber eyes shaded by his long raven bangs.

"I can assure you of one thing," he said. "The latter message was not written by Pitch."

"Well, what about that, Frost," Bunny drawled contemptuously, smirking at the winter spirit.

"Shut up," Jack replied without missing a beat.

"Edmund Aster Bunnymund, Jackson Overland Frost, please refrain from interruption, thank you," said Death in a voice that might have been pleasant had it not been so flat and cold. "Now, where were we? Oh yes. We know that it was not written by Pitch for several reasons, but it is the only thing of which we are one hundred percent positive."

"Really? Exactly…_how _do you know?" North inquired suspiciously.

Death tapped the paper with his long, thin white fingers. "I recognize this writing," he explained. "I stole Unknown's journal once, just on a whim. Very depressing, even for me. But I recognize this hand."

"And, for the obvious," Judgment put in. "It's in silver ink. Who else do we know who writes in silver ink…?"

Silence.

"Exactly," said Death to punctuate his point. "The problem now is whether or not he was under the influence of Pitch, and whether or not we, or more correctly, you, can trust him." There was no hesitation or slip-up before Pitch's name, as there had been many times before with the other children.

"Why wouldn't he?" Bunny scowled, taking a few steps forward. "I mean, Pitch — "

"The question 'why wouldn't he'," Death interrupted calmly, "ties directly in with the alternative question 'why wouldn't _we', _don't you think?"

Bunny was quiet. He tried to hide his embarrassment, but the attempt was useless. Danger was tapping her foot impatiently and looked like she wanted to say "BURN" really loudly, but she politely refrained when Bunny sent her a glare.

"You see," Judgment cleared his throat, stepping forward and taking the imaginary microphone, "these collars are rather pointless. We do not need our powers to successfully kill you. Many of us do not even need weapons. At any given moment from the time the Sandman let us out of our cell to each passing second here, we could have killed each and every one of you, hotwired Nicholas St. North's sled and traveled back to our so-called 'father' with the good news. But we did not."

North opened his mouth to ask a question, but Judgment was fast in overriding him. "_Why not, _you may ask? Because I — or, more correctly, we — wish to know."

"Know what?" Jack asked, though he already had a feeling of what.

"The truth," Judgment replied. "Pitch will definitely not voluntarily tell us, so we have decided that you Guardians are the only way to regain our memories. We — " he coughed. The words were obviously an effort. "We trust you." Every word sounded stiff and almost forced, like he hated the way his words flowed together and wanted to edit the sentences before they reached listening ears.

"For the moment," Wrath interjected.

Judgment turned and effortlessly whacked his older brother on the back of his head. That shut him up.

(When he thought no one was looking, Wrath reached up to make sure his hair was still nice and spiky.)

Death continued the monologue. "We've chosen to trust you," said the amber-eyed teen in the emotionless, cool monotone that Judgment sadly lacked, "and we've also chosen not to kill you because our youngest brother has seen fit to make the same choice. He could have come in, killed you, rescued us, and been back to the lair in the time it takes Pitch to eat a box of chocolate donuts. Why did he not, you may ask?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Again with the _you may ask. _Can't you just skip the archaic language and just tell us?"

Death shot him a glare. "Very well then, Frost," he replied in a tone that was icy, even for Jack. "Pitch and many of my siblings — " here he directed his cold glare back at Pain, Wrath, Shame, and Tempest, who all grimaced and looked away " — would reply obviously. The kid's too weak, too cowardly, too _useless _to kill anyone."

Jack winced. "That's a bit harsh," he objected. "He fought pretty well in the first battle." He resisted the impulse to rub his now re-located jaw.

"Exactly," Death said. "An unseen enemy is the advantaged one. And if anyone could strike the Guardians down from the shadows, it would be Unknown."

"He," said Judgment, "more correctly, _we _— chose not to strike because we want to know. I surmise that Unknown has already found his memories; he would not completely trust Toothiana unless he had. So we will suppose that there are such memories and that, therefore, we can trust you."

"The problem now is," Death cocked his head slightly to the side and regarded the three Guardians with something like craftiness on his face, "can you say that you trust us?"

All was silent once again.

Bunny regained his composure first. "Wait just a minute," he said, his furry eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "You've given us _no_ proof that we can trust you and you're asking anyway. Mate, just 'cause you haven't killed us now doesn't mean that you're not going to stab us when our backs are turned or hand us over to Pitch."

A ghost of a smile crossed Death's lips before it vanished, as if he'd been expecting this point. "We are not asking you to give our weapons back just yet," he said, sounding almost amused. "We simply ask that you trust us."

Judgment nodded reluctantly. "Now, I will admit that I was one of the most stubborn in admitting that, yes, we need help from…_you, _but we finally came to an agreement that I hope you will also support. I propose my plan — "

"Hey, wait just one bloody second!" Loss objected, pushing Wrath and Suffering aside to face her brother. _"Your _plan?"

"Mind you, I put a lot into it myself," said Wrath, stepping forward and glaring at Tempest, Judgment, Loss, and pretty much anyone else that had the misfortune to fall within his range of vision.

"You?" Danger laughed. "Who the hell thought up the idea of using Bunny's holes for the quick exits?"

"Wait, what?" Bunny spluttered, but everyone ignored him.

"That's nothing," Dark sniffed. "I brought up the point that maximum light will make Pitch weaker and that — "

Shame let out a dry bark of laughter. "Light? _Light? _That's all you can ever think about, huh? Well,_ I_ — "

"_I," _mocked Tempest. "Oh yeah, Shame, just because Dad woke you up first and called _you _the First Nightmare Child doesn't mean you're the center of attention. Get a reality check, jeez — "

"Hold on a second," Judgment chuckled. "Listen. This is coming from the bipolar girl with the god-complex, who can't get away from the fact that she's a bloody Mary Sue and MUST ALWAYS BE AT THE HEAD OF EVERY BLOODY MISSION because she's CLEARLY smarter, stronger, and more powerful than EVERYONE ELSE HERE COMBINED — "

_"__I AM NOT A MARY SUE YOU INFERIOR LITTLE — "_

That was as far as individual words could be made out, because following quickly in succession to Tempest's capitalized scream, chaos ensued. Wrath and Pain were alternating between yelling at each other and yelling at everybody else. Shame was trying to pin something humiliating down on Dark but Dark, lacking a sizable ego, failed to become ashamed of anything that his adoptive sister tried to bring up. Tempest and Judgment seemed to be having a contest on who could scream louder. The Guardians were, once more, silenced by the shock.

Solitude just rolled his tired eyes and started walking away, intent on finding a nice quiet place, a book, a plate of peanut-butter cookies, and some cocoa. No one noticed, except for Sandy and Suffering. The two exchanged glances, and a wordless agreement was made. Suffering bent down and Sandy began tinkering with the collar around her neck.

Suddenly the green-eyed introvert found a coil of nightmare sand around his waist and arms, pulling him back. He didn't resist too much, but he was quite surprised. As were the rest of the Nightmare Children when they found bands of gold or black sand clamping around their bodies, securing their arms to their sides. Instantly all eyes went to the rotund little dreammaker and the seventeen-year-old with the flawed face and the stature of a ten-year-old, each holding taut whips of dreamsand in their clenched fists. A silver collar lay uselessly on the floor, which North stared at open-mouthed.

They both looked rather exasperated. Sandy rolled his eyes, exchanged a glance with Suffering, and gestured impatiently to the Nightmare Children, and Suffering seemed to understand. They released the teens from the sand.

"Now," she said in her quiet, raspy voice, "I'll have to admit, I kind of get what's going on here. We're fighting among ourselves because we're pig-headed, egotistic idiots who all want the credit for the plan. You — " here she addressed the Guardians " — are fighting because you're confused. You don't know if you can trust us. Well, I'll settle your doubts."

She took a breath and looked down. "Truth to be told, I kind of faked weakness when you caught me. I was planning on getting you to think that I wasn't a threat, and when I was left alone I'd turn and stab you in the back." Sandy's eyes widened. Suffering nodded sadly.

"I'm sorry," she told the little golden man. "I didn't know. None of us did and now that we do, we're all in. Just ask each one of us." A bit of a sly smile crept up her mouth. "I'll let you all in on a secret — every Nightmare Child has at least one thing in common. Even Pitch has this, but don't ask me how it got passed down to us. When we lie, our left nostrils flare a little bit."

Jack's jaw dropped open. Ten teens' hands instantly flew up to their noses.

"They do _not,"_ Shame said from behind her hands, obviously only half disbelieving it.

"I'm serious," said Suffering, that smile still lingering. "None of you noticed?"

"Just test it," Jack offered. "Tempest, you first."

She sent him a death glare and he shut up.

"I'll do it," said Dark, bravely uncovering his nose. "Okay, ask me something and I'll lie."

"Thank you," said Suffering, smiling widely. "Hehe…all right, do you have a crush on Nyx?"

Shock crossed his face, as he was obviously not expecting this question. He'd thought that _no one _knew about his serenades to the beautiful personification of night. Okay, maybe he _was _a bit "What?! No way!" he objected, which was more instinctive than anything.

Everyone was watching him as he did, though. Sure enough, right after he said "way", his nostril twitched. Just a little bit, barely even noticeable, but it did.

"Told ya," Suffering said proudly.

_"__What?!" _Dark shrieked, his cheeks a shade of red normally attributed to fire trucks, but everyone else ignored him.

"This is ridiculous," Bunny scowled. "That proves absolutely nothing!"

"Bunny, would ya just SHADDUP ALREADY?" That was Jack again, who seemed to live off telling the Pooka to shut up.

"See what I mean?" said Suffering, throwing her hands into the air in exasperation. Sandy gave her a look like, _Now you know what I live with._

"No, Bunny is right," said North, stepping forward and ignoring both Jack and Suffering. "This _is_ ridiculous. We need to stop. We are fighting with each other when we should be fighting Pitch!"

Silence fell again.

Death was the first to speak. "The rotund Russian is right," he deadpanned. "If you pig-headed, egotistic idiots, as our dear sister so correctly named you, cannot agree on the ownership of this plan, I shall introduce it for you."

No one said a word. Death seemed satisfied.

"All right then," he said. _"Our_ plan consists of this: we shall go with what Unknown says, assuming that he is on our side. His message clearly conveys that he and Toothiana wish for all five Guardians and all twelve Nightmare Children to make it back to here, the Pole, presumably so the fairy can show us our memories and convince us fully. We shall wear bindings as you wish, but you, Nicholas, you shall keep the key on your person in case we have to make a run for it. I also request that you bring one of your famous 'infinity bags', for the purpose of storing and bringing our weapons in the event that an extended fight breaks out."

"What good will a key do?" asked North. "There will be no time to unlock your chains!"

"Yes," Death admitted, "but we cannot simply _not wear_ bindings. Aside from it being for your protection and not ours, Pitch would instantly suspect something if we were not bound. That, and even I do not know if we are all completely on your side." Here he shared a look with his siblings, who had the good grace not to object. "The key is a precaution, a desperate measure. And it's also a show of good faith that we still allow you to keep us chained up."

North had to agree with that.

"And while we are chained, without our powers, what will we need?" Death asked.

Jack opened his mouth, no doubt to make a smart-ass comment, but Death interrupted him.

"Rhetorical question, Frost," he said. "We will need guardians."

Silence.

"Pitch will_ kill_ us if he has to," Death said. The others didn't argue. "We are disposable to him. He only wishes to have us back because we are a particularly powerful bunch, one that he might never be able to copy into other children. He might just try to kill us before we leave. So, enchained and revoked of our powers, what will we need? We will need _Guardians."_

More silence as he let this sink in, and then he continued.

"I say we divide us up into groups. Two or three Nightmare Children per Guardian. That shouldn't be too many for you to defend or, if we _do _happen to turn on you, attack. Bunnymund, do you think you could provide transportation?"

Bunny seemed taken aback by the sudden attention. "W- what do you mean?"

"When someone gives the signal," said Death, "do you think you could make your tunnels and transport us all back to the Pole?"

The Pooka glanced at North briefly, but he nodded. "Uh, yeah. What kinda signal?"

"It'll probably go somewhere along the lines of 'let's get the hell outta here'," put in Danger dryly.

Bunny cracked a grin. "Yeah. I think I can do that."

Several people pumped fists and whispered excitedly, but Death just nodded. "Good. You shall be guarding Danger, Loss, and Shame."

"Hey, wait just a second!" Shame cut in, pushing forward. "Who died and put _you _in charge?"

Death met her glare without flinching. "No one has died yet," he replied. "but believe me when I say that someone will."

Several people from the crowd whispered "oohh" but they were unfortunately not identified.

"Just trust me," Death continued when Shame opened her mouth to object. "I know what I'm doing."

"Just let him," said Tempest. "He's good with this stuff."

Shame's mouth was still open. She closed it, a look on her very red face like she had just tried to swallow a marble.

"All right then," said Death as if nothing had happened. "Bunnymund shall be guarding Danger, Loss, and Shame. North, you shall be guarding Dark, Pain, and Wrath. Sandman, you shall be guarding Solitude, Judgment, and Suffering. Jack Frost, you shall guard me and Tempest. Am I clear?"

"What?" Jack pouted. "Why do I only get two?"

"Because I'm awesome enough to count for two people," Tempest piped up. Nobody agreed with her.

"Because you," said Death to Jack as if Tempest had said nothing, "are the youngest and most inexperienced of the four available Guardians. I mean no offense by this, but I think Tempest and I are enough to guard."

Jack suddenly took on a brilliant likeness to a hyperventilating fish. His mouth was opening and closing but no sound was coming out, like he was gasping for breath. Then, after glancing at Tempest and seeing that her eyebrow was cocked, he shut his mouth firmly, nodded, and said nothing more.

"Any more questions?" asked Death.

There were none. His directness and acerbity of his remarks had dared them all to disagree with him, and no one was willing to take that dare.

"Okay," he said in the silence. "Then let's get a move on."

XXXXXXXXX

One would think that meanwhile, Tooth, Unknown, Bava, and Bellon would be having a conversation similar or along the same lines to the one that took place among the ranks of the Guardians and the Nightmare Children.

This could not be further from the truth.

XXXXXXXXX

Tooth sat in her cell alone.

_He's found his memories? _she asked her daughters through the newly-established mental link that Unknown had managed to get back up with a bit of magical hacking.

_All of them, _Bellon reported. _Every second, every sensory detail. I don't even think he knows he has a photographic memory and that it's unusual, but he does. He remembers everything._

_And he was mighty creepy about it too, _Bava put in moodily. _Tapping on the glass — while invisible, nonetheless — refusing to take the freaking hood off, dropping the box and gasping all this Japanese blabber, going all frickin' crazy drama-boy on us with his cryptic answers…dear Moon, teach the kid some manners!_

_Bava, _Tooth warned, giggling a bit. _Be nice. Where is he now?_

_Bathroom, _said Bava.

_Ah, shut up, _said Bellon, and Tooth sensed that Bava had just been punched on the arm by her sister. _Never mind her. She's just cranky._

_I'M HUNGRY!_

_Well, sorry for you, but you could at least try to talk nice about the kid. You know what Tooth thinks of him._

_Yeah, that he's some kind of poor, depressed, misunderstood, hot little antihero in need of 'wuv and care'._

_I DO NOT! _Tooth interjected.

_Do too, _Bava taunted.

_Do not! _Tooth argued.

_Mother, sister, _said Bellon, _let's just calm ourselves down here. Sorry, Mother, but we are you. There's no hiding things from us._

Tooth sighed. _Maybe…yeah, you're right. He's a good kid, really. He just needs a little…well, love and care, I guess._

_I was right! _both fairies squealed at once.

Tooth could feel the blush rising to her cheeks. _So, has Pitch fed you at all?_

_Oooooh! _the fairies squealed — it was impossible to tell which one had started first. _There's the clincher! Changing the subject!_

Tooth felt her cheeks reddening even more. She would bet that if Pitch came down right now, he'd think that she was coming down with a fever. At least, if he even knew what a fever was, and if he actually cared about the welfare of his prisoner. _Can we just drop it?_

_Oooookaaaaay, _her girls said, their smiles literally audible in their voices.

_Well, _said Bava, _going back to your original question, no. Pitch has not fed us. And You-Know-Who-But-You-Really-Don't failed to be so chivalrous as to bring us anything edible._

_He probably didn't even know that you were hungry, _replied Tooth.

_Yeah, Bava, _Bellon said.

_Ah, just shaddup, _Bava said irritably.

_Girls!_

_Sorry, Mom…_

Tooth sighed and rubbed her temples. _Get it together, please. You'll be out soon and I promise that you'll have as much nectar as you want._

_Honey nectar? _they both asked in hopeful unison.

Tooth sighed again. Despite being Tooth Fairies, they had definite sugar jones. _Yes, if we can find some._

_I drank some of North's cocoa once, _offered Bava unhelpfully. _Didn't agree with my stomach._

_So that's why you were groaning and whining for so long that one time, _said Bellon. _Ah. I see now._

_You should have known better, _Tooth scolded. _Lactose intolerance runs in the family…_

_Yeah, yeah… _Bava said sulkily.

_I've never tried dark chocolate before, _said Bellon thoughtfully. _I've heard it has very little milk in it, if any._

_Yes, that's safe, so long as we don't have too much, _said Tooth, wondering where her girls were going with this. _Why?_

She could literally feel Bellon's smile. _Oh, just thinking._

Bava caught on fast. _Thinking about You-Know-Who-But-You-Really-Don't and his favorite foods, probably._

_Yes, of course._

Tooth felt her cheeks reddening again. _Dropping subject. Seriously._

_I'm hungry, _said Bava for what had to be the millionth time since her capture.

_We know, _Tooth and Bellon said, simultaneously rolling their eyes.

XXXXXXXXX

Unknown was hiding in Death's closet.

The Second Nightmare Child didn't have very many clothes; just a spare trench coat, exactly four pairs of jeans, a few t-shirts, and a pair of combat boots that he had long since outgrown. For the most part, Death's entire room looked orderly and minimalist. The only turnaway was the strange smell — a near-lethal mixture of sulfur, smoke, blood, cologne, and the unwashed socks that in the fashion of the typical teenage boy had been shoved under the bed. The stench of death. _Literally._ It was overpowering at first sniff, but faint enough that after a few minutes, it could be ignored. Still, it was amazing that Death didn't seem to notice it at all and even more amazing that the smell didn't stick to him outside the room (except for the cologne smell, but then again, he _was_ kind of obsessed with the stuff). So usually, people did not trespass into Death's room, except for the desperate. It made this closet a good hiding place.

Death wouldn't particularly mind, either. He was one of the few Nightmare Children who didn't seem to go out of his way to pick on Unknown every time the Last Nightmare Child showed his face. Several times he'd found the younger boy hiding in his closet, and each time he'd just blinked and turned away as if he hadn't seen anything. It was a cold, nearly nonexistent link of brotherhood, but a link nonetheless, and for it Unknown was grateful.

So here he hid once again. His own room wasn't safe because that would be the first place Pitch would look if he needed him for some other menial task. As would the library, the pantry, and the dungeons, which were some of his usual hiding places. Death's closet was a last measure, and to be honest, it wasn't a particularly bad one. There was enough room for Unknown to sit comfortably with his journal and a candle in front of him.

A rough sketch of the clearing in which the trade would take place filled the opened page of said journal now. He scanned over it once more, reminding himself for the umpteenth time that it wouldn't be as perfect as he and Tooth hoped. He'd given the mini-fairies the best statistics, telling them that if they just did these things right, then they would all make it out alive.

They believed him.

The sketch of the trade plan somewhat resembled that of a game plan for some kind of sport — there were the o's for the Guardians including Toothiana, the big black X for Pitch, and the smaller x's inside circles for his siblings. Arrows showing the predicted directions of each player littered the page. His gaze lingered on a faint, small circled x next to Toothiana's o. The diagram showed that he would snatch Tooth from Pitch and make his way to the Guardians' side, and if Pitch or the Nightmares (marked by little triangle-ish scribbles because Unknown hadn't the faintest clue as to how to draw horses and probably wouldn't have drawn them even if he did) tried to advance, either the Guardians or the Nightmare Children would push them back, then regroup, and then they would all speed off to the Pole by way of whatever method of transportation they had cooked up.

But he knew it wouldn't be as simple as this plan so dictated. Pitch would have guards everywhere and they'd snatch him and Tooth back before the Guardians could help them, whether he was invisible or not. But he had to try. He knew Tooth wouldn't like it, which was why he hadn't told her, but it was the only way. Pitch wouldn't simply give up. He was unstable and vicious and would fight until he had victory or until he was dead. There was only one other option and if Unknown died trying to achieve this crazy goal, then so hope that it would at least help Tooth's cause.

But what if it didn't? What if he turned and ran at the last minute, like in the last battle? Maybe he was still a coward. Wasn't he? He'd always be, right? He couldn't be a hero. Some crazy bird-woman and her two fairy pets couldn't change that with just a few pretty words! He wasn't —

_Shut up, _Unknown told the voices. _Just shut up, okay?_

To his surprise, they did.

Shaking himself out of his haze, Unknown lifted his pencil from the page. In the margins his idle hand had scratched out a rough picture of Toothiana's face, not particularly accurate or detailed, but thick and simple and beautiful in its own little plain way. He was almost scared at how perfectly he had captured her eyes in just a few pencil strokes — curious, determined, kind, and trusting all at once.

He hated how he could deceive such trusting eyes. He hated how they seemed to see that yes, they would make it out all right. Most of all he hated that they believed it.

It made him feel sick.


	16. Sacrifice

**YO OK IT'S HERE — CHAPTER 15**

**JUST LETTING YOU KNOW, BUT I MIGHT NOT BE BACK UNTIL MID JUNE AT THE LATEST BECAUSE FINALS ARE ALMOST HERE AND THEY'RE BIGGER AND BADDER THAN EVER BEFORE CUZ THIS IS THE FIRST YEAR I'M TAKING AP GIFTED CLASSES WHICH I CLEARLY DO NOT BELONG IN SO UH YEAH**

**ANYWAY**

**THIS SHOULD BE SATISFYING ENOUGH BUT YEAH HERE  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Deep in the inner lair of Pitch Black, a giant hourglass set with black marble stood on the desk that Pitch used primarily for absolutely nothing. It was carved with a depiction of a Nightmare — go figure — which curled around the outside of the glass like a snake. A pair of rearing heads made for handles and the golden eyes stared into the walls they were respectively facing. It was a beautiful piece, Pitch decided. A bit tacky, bulky, and horribly cliché, but he liked it.<p>

The Nightmare King himself was sitting in his cold throne, his chin propped up by his arm and a look of intense boredom on his face. It had been hours since he had sent Unknown to the Guardians to inform them of his limit, and time was quickly running out.

The black sand — nightmare; what else? — slowly dribbled down into the bottom half of the bulb and cascaded down amongst the rest of its kind. Pitch watched the sand with about as much enthusiasm as a five-year-old watching cheese rot. He hated waiting. Hated it more than anything. He was a _king, _and such things were meant to happen on _his _command!

Yeah right.

"Who am I fooling?" he muttered, letting his hand drop from his chin and leaning back in his throne. "No matter what I'm still stuck waiting for those damn Guardians."

True. But it was one of the constant problems with being a villain. You had to wait for the good guys to fall into your traps. The operative word being _wait._

_Still, _he groused silently, _I hate waiting._

_**You might hate it,**_ said the side of him that had made itself more clearly known the minute he'd decided to use the children, **_but it's necessary. Appearances must be maintained. You are a king, and as such you have to remain dignified and regal._**

"True," he repeated discontentedly, gazing into the inky contents of the large hourglass's depths. More sand was falling. More seconds ticking away.

"Soon Toothiana's time will run out," he mused. "And then I'll have to kill her."

Not surprisingly, he didn't feel any hesitation about doing this. He was a bad guy. That was what bad guys did. They hurt, tortured, and even killed to get what they wanted.

"And what I want is my children back and those fools dead," he growled, his spidery hands immediately forming into fists. "Especially that interfering Tsar Lunar!"

_Tsar Lunar. _The name sent fury rippling through Pitch's veins. _He was the spirit that took everything from me, _he thought savagely. _I was once a feared creature throughout the galaxy. NOW what am I?! A monster that hides under beds and scares children from their closets! Pathetic. _He sighed and rubbed his head. Thinking about things like that too long would give him a headache, and darkness knew he didn't need that on top of all the other headaches he'd recently received.

Pitch glanced back at the hourglass again. Right now, the black sand told him that there were about two hours left until Toothiana's time ran out. Pitch allowed himself a grin. Two hours, and victory would be his. The Guardians would come to take Toothiana away, she would take the teeth boxes (and even if she did decide to abridge the deal and activate them, he could still make it work in his favor), and this round of the game would be won. And, if he was lucky and his children hadn't been corrupted by those glory-hogging buffoons, he might even be able to take a few of said buffoons out once the children were safe.

_Of course, _he thought, running his hand over his face again, _that implies that my children haven't been brainwashed by those do-gooders and are still loyal to me._

It was something that he had been thinking about since Suffering had been taken. The Guardians might have been meddlesome fools, but for some insane reason they appealed to children. And what were his twelve warriors? Nothing more than children.

"Despite all my years of teaching and training, it wouldn't take long for those morons to corrupt them," he mused. "And if that happens, I will only have Unknown by my side." He laughed bitterly. "A poor prospect indeed."

Unknown was not much of a warrior, and if his children turned on him he would be the only thing Pitch would have left.

"But they won't," he said firmly. "They wouldn't dare."

**_They _****are****_ still children,_**the "father" side of him said. **_And, for whatever reason, children believe in those stupid excuses for Guardians._**

Pitch sighed for the umpteenth time that day. "Well, if it turns out they _have _been brainwashed and believe the Guardians are some type of heroes, I can always just kill them."

But he didn't believe that. He knew he wouldn't be able to kill the eleven children he'd sheltered for ten years for one simple reason: they were his children. Saying that he loved them would be a long shot, but he definitely still cared about them.

"Look at me," he snorted contemptuously. "At first these kids were nothing but pawns to me. Now I'm acting like they're my own." He paused and looked into the hourglass yet again. A familiar face greeted him in the rounded reflection, but without the cold lines and penetrating eyes he'd grown so accustomed to seeing. So unfamiliar, and yet…he shook his head and looked away. "I'm getting distracted," he said quietly. "And that is not good."

He needed to think clearly — which he hadn't been doing in over a fortnight. Since his children had been captured.

"I need to think!"

He stood up. Being in one place for long periods of time was getting annoying, and it wasn't the first time he'd thought it. Ever since he'd woken up the children, he'd mostly been confined to the lair just to watch over them. Sure, at times he'd call on the Phoenix to babysit them (she loved kids for some reason) or, as they got a little bit older, left them home alone when he got really stir-crazy, but for some reason he liked having control of them himself. When he was home, they were less likely to do crazy things. They stayed underground. They stuck to training with weapons. They ate healthy. They stayed hydrated. They refrained from locking their siblings inside the old fairy cages and lobbing water balloons at them. Things ran more smoothly when he stayed at home, even if he didn't like it.

He ran his hands over the cold arms of the throne and tried to focus. He needed to make a plan, just in case his children were in fact brainwashed. A plan which would render his children harmless until such time as he could "help" them remember just who was the real bad guy here.

There wasn't much.

He could just flood them in nightmare sand to take care of them all at once, but that might overload their systems and put them in permanent comas. Mortal bodies were fragile things. Or he could just take something hard and knock them all out, but that wasn't providing a very good example to them.

"I could just kill the Guardians," he murmured, sinking back into the chair and tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Slaughter them all and be rid of the nuisance forever."

But he knew it wouldn't be that easy. They would fight back, and he didn't have the strength to stand alone against them now. Truth to be told, he barely had the strength to do anything these days. Of course he was still the undisputed master of fear, but he was finding it harder to move and use his magic than it had been all those years ago. Ten years of chasing after the Nightmare Children instead of roaming the world and collecting fear had sapped his strength, leaving him nothing more than a thin shadow of his former self. Another reason why the kids were probably a horrible idea and he was, as a lot of the teens said, a complete and total moron.

He shook his head. "Again, I'm thinking about things I should not be thinking about!" He growled, clenching his fists in agitation. He'd been doing that a lot lately. The visions of that little girl were getting to him, as was the stress of being a father.

"Danger always gets off-topic," he mused quietly, his thoughts drifting away again to lighter, happier things. "Especially when she's on a sugar rush." He chuckled. "Heck, any of them will get off topic when the opportunity presents itself." He smiled. It was one of the only things that he had picked up from his children. The ability to be distracted by absolutely _everything._

Pitch sighed again and rubbed his forehead as his thoughts turned to other things. Like his twelfth child.

That boy completely baffled him, which was not an easy thing to do. He was too shy to even speak to the people who lived with him, but sneaky enough to steal into his father's prisons and visit the only prisoner, who was one of the five people he had been trained to despise with all his being. He hadn't directly caught the kid attempting anything else afterwards but he didn't like the brief, nearly nonexistent connection between his son and his prisoner.

It was a long shot, but Pitch guessed that if Unknown was brave enough to show his face to Toothiana, they must have formed at least a small bond of trust. He didn't think that Tooth had accepted Unknown's gift of chocolate, because not even Toothhiana would trust a former enemy so strongly that fast, but the mere knowledge that there had been an attempt of friendship at all was unsettling.

But Unknown had not shown any signs that he was affectionate in any way towards the Third Guardian — and when Pitch had inquired in a seemingly casual manner about it the boy had merely gone silent and scowled, which of course did not convey a message of good feelings. But then again, teenagers could be very deceptive. Just look at Suffering, who had been able to deceive _him!_

Pitch growled as he remembered the small girl who had tricked him without batting a swollen eyelash. _When I get her back she will pay for that! _he thought in a sudden burst of anger. His fist clenched the hard stone armrest and he was thinking so hard about what punishment he would inflict on her that he almost missed the shimmer of grey and silver that heralded the object of his thoughts not but a moment ago.

Pitch's head snapped up and, for a split second, their eyes met. The boy who had appeared there flinched at the sudden movement, which in itself was not a harmful movement at all. But what came with the movement was, because suddenly Pitch felt a white-hot dagger slide between his eyes and saw, in Unknown's place, a dark-haired girl about the same age. Her slender hands had gone up to shield her face, and her shoulders shook as she cowered deeper into the dim shadows.

Then the shaking started becoming less than fear and more like…_anger. _The girl lowered her hands, revealing a thin, exotically beautiful face and a pair of furious, leaf-green eyes…

Pitch gasped and doubled over in his throne. His head was throbbing now, pulsing with a strange dull heat. The intense green eyes of the girl had seemed to burn holes in his own and now all he saw was a hazy grey blur of the world around him. Actually, that might not be a cause-and-effect sequence at all…but still.

From his place in the shadows, Unknown grimaced, but he did and said nothing else. That, if anything, was the one thing Pitch liked about the shyer ones, their true appreciation for shadows, mystery, and silence. Tempest could stand in a spotlight and she wouldn't care — in fact, she'd probably start singing in it. Not that she actually could sing. The girl was tone-deaf for darkness' sake.

Inhaling sharply, Pitch straightened up and brushed off his robe (rather uselessly, both members of the currently nonexistent conversation reflected, as it was still as dark and spotless as usual).

"Thank you for asking, but I am fine," Pitch said coldly, ignoring the receding yet still very painful throb in his head. "What do you want _now?"_

Unknown looked confused. "You…but you said…I…"

Pitch didn't have the patience for the child's stuttering. "Spit it out, boy."

"You said I had to keep watch in the forest."

The Nightmare King did a double take. Yes, he thought he might have said something of the sort. It so happened that Pitch paused maybe a bit too long, as Unknown took it into consideration to continue. "By the frozen pond, you said."

Pitch's eyes narrowed at the tinge of acerbity, covered mostly with that annoying tentative innocence, in his charge's voice. Now even _Unknown _was becoming a smartass. Maybe his siblings had actually kind of rubbed off on him. "Yes, I recall," he replied stiffly. "You did not answer my question. Why are you here?"

Unknown shrugged and looked away. "I — I was about to tell you. The Guardians have arrived."

At the first sentence, Pitch was preparing to summon a lash of nightmare sand and teach the impudent boy a lesson. But at the second sentence, the sand whip was now useful for a different purpose. "I…I see." He stood, trying to contain his impatience. _Finally. _"Do they have your siblings with them?"

He nodded.

"Well? What? Chained, blindfolded, gagged, what?"

Unknown just shrugged.

Now Pitch was just annoyed. "You mean you don't know?" he nearly spat.

A hesitant nod.

Pitch collapsed back into his throne in frustration. Unknown had probably run at the first glimpse of the Guardians, not even thinking to spy on them and find out more. What had he been _thinking,_ setting the kid up as a sentry?

Then he realized a valid point. He had been _not_ thinking for quite a while. At least, not thinking very well.

With a flick of his fingers and a quick mental probe, Pitch called back one of the Nightmare guards he'd also set up around the area of the forest. Within a minute (during which an awkward silence reigned in the throne room) Onyx trotted in and stopped next to Pitch's throne.

From the Nightmare, Pitch learned that the Guardians were making their way towards his home. Slowly — apparently the kids were in the mood to be defiant and difficult. Good for them! — but they were on their way. Each of them had handcuffs around their wrists and a silver collar around their neck, the latter probably to prevent them from using their powers. The handcuffs were linked together by a central chain to keep them from getting away. In all fairness, it was a pretty good system. Far more efficient than just knocking them unconscious and lugging them all the way here, which was probably what Pitch would have done.

"Thank you, Onyx," said Pitch when the Nightmare was finished. "Summon another squad to guard the fairy."

Onyx gave something like a snort of reply, and she trotted away. Almost as if in echo, Unknown muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Pitch asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," the boy replied, a bit sullenly if Pitch was not mistaken.

Unknown didn't seem to disagree. He just nodded and vanished again. Among many other things, this habit of disappearing highly aggravated Pitch. He never knew if the kid was still lingering somewhere. Usually, the traces of fear and anxiety gave away his position if he was, but he'd been getting better at concealing them. Pitch didn't know how he did it or even if he was doing it consciously.

He shook his head once more, dismissing the thought of the Last Child from his mind. It was high time he got his soldiers back.

XXXXXXXXX

When Tooth heard Pitch coming down the stairs to the dungeons, she knew it was one of two things — time for the plan to be put into action, or time for her to die. Maybe both.

"Why, hello there, oh king of shadows," she said cheerily. "Come to apologize? Or maybe to enjoy the stale air with me?" She flicked a pebble at him, which, unfortunately, missed.

Pitch seemed to be doing his best to ignore her. Without a word, he strode into her cell, snapped a tight pair of iron handcuffs around her already-chained wrists, and undid her others with a simple touch to where the keyholes would have been. A nightmare sand blade by her neck told her the consequences of running away, so she didn't.

"What a way to treat a lady," she teased, trying desperately to mask her worry as Pitch steered her roughly out of the cell. Needless to say, he ignored her.

So she sighed and fell silent. Pitch was apparently not in the mood for friendly banter between immortal enemies and to be quite honest she wasn't really either — the plan spinning in her head was filling her with enough worries that she didn't think she would be able to successfully carry on a conversation.

But as they approached the door leading out of the dungeons, a cold draft of air swept through the hallway. It ruffled her feathers, playing with them before swirling off again. _Don't worry, _a quiet, almost nonexistent voice whispered in her ear.

Pitch didn't even seem to hear the voice. "Come on," he said shortly, and nudged Toothiana forward to keep walking.

As seven Nightmare guards trotted out from the shadows and surrounded them, Tooth busied herself by finding the telepathic link again. _Unknown? _She sent out a gentle pulse of thoughts and felt overjoyed when she found a connection.

_Yes? _That was Unknown again and, at risk of Pitch seeing it, she let the barest flicker of a smile cross her lips.

_Thank you._

She felt pride and then confusion on the other end, and then, _Um, okay, sure. I mean, you're welcome._

_Relax, _she chided. _It'll be all right. You'll be invisible the whole time._

_I'm not nervous about the plan._

_Then what?_

His end of the link was silent. Somehow he'd been able to place a little block on the mental stream that only let through what he wanted, or something like that.

Tooth bit her lip to keep her from smiling again. He probably didn't even understand it himself, but she could tell his fascination with her ran deeper than just the whole memory deal. _I understand, _she thought gently to him. And she did, but apparently Unknown was skeptical. Or maybe she was just grasping on the wrong thing.

_No, you don't._

_Why not? _she inquired with a slight tease.

Once again, silence.

_You're hiding something, aren't you?_

After a hesitation, _No._

_Liar._

Silence again.

_Okay, _said Tooth, hoping with every shred of her being that she was right about the loyalties of the Twelfth Nightmare Child. She dismissed the worries. Unknown might have been misled, but he wasn't one of the bad guys anymore.

But there was still no response.

Without thinking, she sighed. Pitch cast her a weird look somewhat akin to a glare, and she resolved not to sigh again.

XXXXXXXXX

"There it is," said Tempest softly from the front of the line. "The lair entrance."

Death, following right behind her, said nothing. As usual. After his lengthy diplomatic speech to the Guardians, he had reverted to a state of absolute silence. Judgment, who was mildly irritated due to his lack of time in the diplomatic spotlight, had explained that Death often got like this. He was naturally a quiet fellow, the Tenth Nightmare Child had said, and after speaking for an unusual amount of time, he would lapse into absolute silence to rest his vocal cords.

Jack, who walked beside Tempest, only scowled and prodded her in the side with the hook of his staff. "Quiet, prisoner," he snapped. "Or I'll…uh, I'll nip your nose. So you won't be able to smell stuff anymore. Ha ha."

The Nightmare Children, not to mention the other Guardians, cast him weird looks. His cheeks flushed red. "Too much?" he asked quietly out of the corner of his mouth.

_"__Very," _Tempest replied, rolling her eyes.

They stopped at the edge of the clearing and waited in silence. The moon was up, only a half of a silver eye in the clear, star-scattered sky. The ground was layered with a thick blanket of snow, which was disturbed only by the footsteps of the Guardians and the chained Nightmare Children. The trail led back to the frozen pond, where they had emerged by way of one of North's snow globes.

In the clearing, though, the snow was untouched. The hole in the ground was shadowed by a tall, somewhat gnarled pine tree. Pitch would most likely stick to these shadows in order to keep himself at his peak of strength, which at the same time wouldn't give him much moving room.

A shadow darted in the corner of his eye, and Jack swerved around with his staff at the ready. There was nothing there. He lowered his staff and tried to relax his tensed muscles, but to no success. He was as tightly coiled as a spring. He was even shaking a little bit.

A bony, callused hand placed itself on his arm, and Jack turned to meet Tempest's eyes, which glinted silver in the moonlight. "Hey," she whispered. "Calm down. You're just nervous."

Jack wet his lips and nodded quickly. "Right. Yeah."

(Neither of them noticed Bunny and Danger exchanging a glance and a grin, nor did they notice North rolling his eyes or Sandy flashing a quick suggestive sand-heart to the other Nightmare Children.)

Then a distant, echoing whinny came from the direction of the lair entrance. The Guardians and Nightmare Children alike all froze (figuratively). Tempest yanked her hand away from Jack and took on a very convincing look of utter disgust. Loss pretended to be picking the locks of her chains — she probably was, not to escape, but just for the heck of it.

The Nightmare King arose from the hole in the ground on a swirling dais of nightmare sand, flanked by several Nightmares. The small, rainbow-feathered figure next to him stood out like a flower in the ashes of a black hearth, and the four Guardians' hearts leapt to see her. Then hope was extinguished when they saw the black chains around her wrists and the black sword that Pitch held in the silent and unmistakable threat. One move, and she dies.

On the surface to the Guardians, Pitch seemed to be the same old Boogeyman. Ashen skin, eclipse eyes, black robe and spiky hair. Then they looked closer and saw the two wild, yellow fires alit in his eyes, akin to what lit up Danger's face when you gave her a paintball gun. His black hair was streaked with a bit of grey, and whether it was the effects of being defeated by one's one Nightmares or the effects of bringing up the Nightmare Children or both, no one could tell.

Tooth looked extremely tiny next to him. Her shoulders were slumped and her limp wings drooped in a way that was completely out of character for her, which could probably be attributed to being trapped in a cell for nearly two days. The feathers around her thin ankles and wrists were ragged and stained with blood. Her fingers clenched around a heavy plastic bag, which most likely held the tooth boxes.

Sandy, Suffering, and Death were the only ones who noticed that Tooth's wings were shaking, just a little bit. And all of the Nightmare Children sensed the fear exuding from her, carefully concealed from Pitch by a magical shield with an unknown source.

Death was the only one to really connect the dots. His lips twitched in something of a half-smile before the sign of true emotion melted back into his mask. He had to admit, he _was _proud of his brother.

Breaking the silence, Tempest coughed. "Well?" she said impatiently. "We're all here! Now let's get this over with!"

Pitch gave her a wry smile. "Tempest," he said. "I'm so glad to see you're all safe — "

Tempest felt fire flare up inside of her at her "father's" lies and she held up one chained hand. "Save the sentimentalities. Thank you."

Fortunately for her, he attributed it to the embarrassment of a typical teenage daughter being coddled by her father in public and nodded. "Yes. Of course. Shall we get this trade under way, finally?"

There was silence as the Nightmare Children and Guardians alike collectively gathered their strength, readying for a fight, and met his eyes without flinching or falter. It was a miracle Pitch didn't notice it outright — he'd gotten lax in his old age.

"No."

The voice came loud and firm, and Pitch did a double take. "What?"

Tooth's lip twitched in the beginnings of a grim smile. Here comes the hurricane.

"No," Tempest repeated. "We're not coming back to you, Pitch Black. We were never yours to begin with."

Pitch's face took on a look that bore a striking resemblance to North's when Sandy had appeared in the council room with the released Nightmare Children — a strange mix of betrayal, disbelief, and…fear? But no, that could not be it.

But in fact, it actually was it. One coherent thought ran through the Nightmare King's mind, darting through the restless mutterings of the demons inside:

_They know._

_He's on to us, _Tooth told Unknown. She wrapped her fingers into fists, got ready to run, and thought more strongly, _Go. GO!_

It appeared that her little guard was alert and ready, because almost before she could repeat the command, something metal clanged against Pitch's black sword and knocked it out of his hands. Free of the blade's threat, Toothiana shot forward as fast as she could on her feet in the snow — which was, in all honesty, not very fast. Her feet felt like lead from all those lonely hours of sitting in her cell and she stumbled. She landed on her knees and only kept herself from faceplanting into the snow by her chained hands. Automatically, she turned her head and looked back, expecting to see a certain Nightmare Child running towards her and telling her to go.

But she didn't see what she expected. Instead, the sight yanked a cry of utter fear past her lips.

"Unknown!" Tooth screamed, staring like a deer caught in the headlights.

***HAHA OKAY THIS IS WHERE MYSTICHAWK-AWESOMENESS STOPS AND DARKHORSEBLUESKY-CRAPPINESS STARTS TO RUN RAMPAGE BRACE YOURSELVES***

Around her, she could hear the hair-raising shrieks of Nightmares as they surged forward and the shouts of Nightmare Children and Guardians alike, but only barely. Her eyes were transfixed on the two battling spirits before her and she felt as if her blood had frozen in her veins.

She couldn't _see _Unknown — no one could — but it was obvious he was there. Pitch was on the ground and flailing ungracefully at the air above him, held in the snow by something pinning him down at the shoulders. Then the Nightmare King yanked his arm free and the invisible something disrupted the snow as he was swept off his feet, giving a small cry as his body hit the ground…

There were too many things wrong with this picture. Unknown was supposed to be holding her hand — leading her towards the Guardians, and to freedom — not fighting Pitch! That's what they'd talked about, right? _Right?!_

_Oh Toothiana, _her own voice crooned back to her, _you know you've been wrong. You knew you were wrong from the second you figured out he was hiding something._

She, as she realized with wide eyes, had been wrong in the worst way possible.

And she hated Unknown — Pitch — most of all herself — for it.

Threads of scarlet wove into the edges of her vision, and a howl split the air. Tooth wasn't sure if it was hers but she did know that suddenly, her wings were whirring for the first time in days. They felt raw and stiff from disuse. And yet, she felt like she could fly for miles as she barreled towards the Nightmare King, letting out the horrified scream of a mother about to lose her only child.

She didn't know why Unknown had just ruined his own plan, but sure as heaven and hell she wasn't going to let him pay the price for it.

Pitch was on his feet by now, a scythe of nightmare sand in his hands as he tried to find Unknown before Unknown found him, and when he heard Tooth's scream he whirled on her. A horrible, grotesque snarl was plastered on his enraged face and he lifted his scythe back and prepared to swing at her…

Three voices shattered the cold winter air, each calling her name, before her world went sideways.

XXXXXXXXX

Blurs. Blurs of color and light all around, which erupted the second Unknown's quarterstaff clanged against Pitch's sword. There's not much more than that to tell.

There'd been a flash — of ice and lightning, yes, as Jack broke Tempest's chains and the girl released two weeks' worth of bottled-in power all over the Nightmares charging towards her. Bunny took Danger's chained hand in one paw and Loss's hand in the other and both girls jumped, using their momentum to spring off Bunny's shoulders and into the air, where they both landed on the backs of Nightmares. Several of the others had pried one of the cuffs off and used the chains as makeshift nunchuks — North had disagreed to bringing their weapons but he had made sure that their chains were made of star sand, one of the only materials that could kill a Nightmare.

Tempest, laughing almost maniacally, spiraled into the air in a swirl of wind and kicked-up snow, and Jack whirled around and began icing every Nightmare within reach. Death was alone now, abandoned by both his Guardian and his sister. Not that he particularly minded; the Frost kid was annoying and Tempest equally ditzy (especially when Jack was around) and he could hold a fight on his own even without his scythe.

_In fact,_ he mused as he caught a black blur in his peripheral vision and pivoted just in time to hook his star sand chain under and around the Nightmare's neck, very efficiently strangling it and causing it to explode into black dust, _I quite like this. Shorter reach than a scythe — and hence I need to modify my fighting style — but faster. Lighter, which is —_

_ "__DUCK!"_

Death knew that voice. He trusted it. And so, before his brain could fully process it, he was falling forward and suddenly in the snow, every muscle tense as he felt something hard and rough only barely brush the back of his head. He had no doubts as to what it was: _the hoof of a Nightmare_. Then there was the satisfying _phhfft _and a _thud _as a body landed in the snow a few paces in front of him — a red-clad body covered in the remnants of Nightmares. Almost as soon as the figure had fallen, she was scrambling up again to keep fighting.

The ghost of a smile flashed across Death's face as he got to his feet and watched his sister fly off on the back of a hijacked (horsejacked?) Nightmare, dark cheeks pulled back to reveal a wolfish grin as she yanked Solitude up and out of the way just in time for three Nightmares to _not _devour the Eighth Nightmare Child. That was Danger for you — the perfect backup. She'd take a bullet for you without blinking, that girl, though _why _Death had no idea in the slightest. Probably had to do with that thing called love that everyone was talking about nowadays…

The scream grabbed him by the collar almost before his ears had time to recognize what it was, and in a second Death wasn't facing his battle but rather, Pitch's and Unknown's and Tooth's. The fairy-girl was in the air and shooting towards the battling fear-spirits, hand outstretched as if to reach them… Oh look — there was Unknown, barely more than a black flicker as his invisibility faltered for a second — _(is he wearing my old coat? dear darkness, he is!)_ — but clearly…

Quite clearly armor-clad and _fighting Pitch_…

Later Death would study, in depth, the patterns of subconscious suggestion for this very reason — that he'd started running not towards Unknown but _towards Tooth _and _two full seconds before_ Pitch had hefted his scythe over his shoulder. Somehow he'd known that Pitch wasn't fighting Unknown because he wanted to kill the boy; Pitch wanted to kill Tooth and Unknown was merely in the way. But when Tooth put herself into range of Pitch's scythe while trying to reach Unknown, _of course _Pitch would see the opportunity and try for a shot at her, just to knock her out of the equation once and for all.

How he'd realized this in the space of a nanosecond he'd never really know even with all the studying, but if not for the realization everything might have gone horribly wrong or at the very least, worse than they were already going. It spurred him forward and across the jostled snow, faster than any human being has ever sprinted in snow, driven by that sudden leap of what felt like his ice-cold heart in his throat as he realized that _Queen Toothiana was about to die._

It felt kind of like one of those movies where they slowed things down right as they were coming to a big dramatic part, because as Death shot forward with speed he didn't know he had, the world at the same time felt as if it was hardly moving at all. He looked around at the frozen battle. Jack and Tempest hovered in the sky, Tempest wrestling a Nightmare and Jack only barely dodging them. Four whips, gold and black accordingly, flew from the hands of the Sandman and his blessed sister Suffering. Danger's braid had come undone and her long dark hair blew out behind her, reminding him of the wings of a dark angel. She soared down on the back of a Nightmare, ready to deal destruction on another Nightmare. Wrath had pushed Pain to the ground and was poised above her, hand and chain raised to protect his sister from the Nightmare about to come down. Dark lay unconscious (hopefully) in the snow; Solitude and Shame stood above him, defending.

And then worse yet —

Pitch's scythe was on its way. The Nightmare King had completely ignored Unknown, who was doing his best to scramble quickly up off the ground and grab his staff again. Then the boy seemed to notice the scythe, saw the new target, and began charging at Pitch — much the same as Death was running and Jack now flying — the three boys' mouths open in chorused cries for —

_Tooth._

She was still flying towards the Boogeyman but seemed to have just seen the scythe as she tried to skid to a stop mid-air — one hand had automatically gone up in a useless attempt to shield herself and the other was reaching for a sword that wasn't there. Bright violet eyes open in pure, raw terror.

A child screamed. Death didn't even have to look to know it was Unknown.

His feet hit a patch of bare ground and he used the force to leap.

XXXXXXXXX

Fortunately for her wings, Tooth crashed to the ground on her side. The wet snow blinded her eyes and for an alien second all she knew was that she was extremely cold and that someone had just landed on top of her and had his arms wrapped around her a bit too tight for comfort. Probably the same person who had pulled her down, she realized with a moment of extreme _duh._

Confused and dazed, she wiped the snow out of her eyes and attempted to sit up. Unfortunately, the first thing she saw when she opened them was not the face of whoever had pulled her down but rather Pitch advancing on her, raising his scythe for another swing. Before she could even process the situation a hand came around the side of her head and roughly pushed her down again behind the meager protection of his body — "_his" _meaning, as she now realized when she briefly met a pair of slightly-crazed amber eyes, Death's.

She was still trying to figure out what was wrong with this picture when Pitch's scythe _whooshed_ three inches above their heads. Death was curled around her in such a way that a second later, when a loud yell echoed across the clearing, she could feel him tensing up and drawing her even closer — possibly protectively, though even after he'd just risked his life for her she still had her doubts. Like, why would he even try to save her anyway? He was _Death, _for Moon's sake. He _didn't have emotions. _But what if he wasn't really, and if he was just another human kid in the middle of a war that wasn't his…

_Nothing made sense._

Well, she couldn't just do nothing about it. She was the Queen of the Tooth Fairy Armies. She wouldn't let this creepy Nightmare kid just lie on top of her in case another scythe happened to come her way. Tentatively, she wriggled to loosen his death grip on her and peeked over his shoulder to see what in Manny's name was going on over there.

Promptly, she swore in Latin.

Death had heard (maybe not understood, but heard nonetheless) and was now also turned to look — at Pitch, wrestling again on the ground with the still-invisible Unknown. Pitch had a sword, and to all appearances Unknown had nothing. His staff was lying in the snow, too far away for him to reach. It was hard to see, as one of the members of the duel could not be seen altogether, but it appeared that Unknown was trying to pin Pitch to the ground and wrestle the sword out of his hand.

Now, as had been one of Tooth's first thoughts upon meeting Unknown, the kid was as skinny as a toothpick. He couldn't have weighed any more than forty kilos! And she really doubted that muscles made up for much of what he did have — from what Jack had told her about his quick little fight with Unknown, he was crazy fast when terrified yet pretty pathetic in the strength department. True, Pitch wasn't the epitome of a bodybuilder himself, but he was a spirit. He lasted longer than the average human, and Unknown was still in very many aspects human. The fight wouldn't last much longer, she knew, when Pitch yanked his arm free, shoved off the invisible presence holding him down, and with his sword made a blind, angry slice into thin air.

Or, at least, what appeared to be thin air.

If it could be replayed in slow motion, the first thing anyone would see was the blood on the sword, and the small ruby droplets appearing from nowhere and falling to stain the pure white snow. Then Unknown would appear from that same nowhere, head thrown back, mouth open, and eyes wide in pain. The gash, you would see, stretched from his left shoulder to a point near his right hip. Pitch had hit him in just the right way that it completely missed his armor.

And then he'd succumb to gravity and tumble to the ground, curled up in fear of his own helplessness and Pitch's rage.

_"__No!" _Tooth shot up, then froze as Pitch's gaze zeroed in again on her. Freezing cold fear danced up her spine, tickling her feathers and mocking her own cowardice, asking her again and again _why couldn't she move? why couldn't she save him? why wasn't she doing anything?! _and matching the two equally cold hands grasping her shoulders, pulling her back down to ground. Down to the snow.

_Jack?_

She whirled on him, feelng like she was moving through syrup, and met his eyes — not sliver eyes, but blue. Blue like the sky, like ice. He was holding a wooden staff with a hook, not a straight metal one. His hand, on her shoulder, cold, cold, cold…not dark, hostile, but rather, crisp and smiling like a morning frost…not like the invisible one, not…not like the nightmare…oh, she felt like she was slipping into…the nightmare again…_no,_ _my nightmare child…_

_Dying in the snow tonight…_

She was up and going towards him even as every instinct screamed to fly_ in the opposite direction. _She could hear Jack, too, screaming the need to run in her ear, grabbing her, trying to get the wind to slow her down.

"Come on, Tooth!" he grabbed her hand and began pulling her away, "Get out of here!"

But she couldn't go. She had to save Unknown. She turned back — tried to look for him — he was there, in the snow, trying to stand up and stop the man who wanted to kill her.

"Tooth!" he cried, his young voice cracking.

It was, she knew instantly, a wrong move. Pitch wasn't deaf. He spun around, instinctively shooting out a blast of nightmare sand. It barreled towards Unknown and, acting out of pure fear, he threw his hands over his head and pushed out a wall of silver sand to block the attack. Black met tainted white in an overpowering burst of light and shadow and the force sent both sand-users flying backwards…

_No!_

Stray bits of sand sprayed into Tooth's eyes, but she didn't care. Frantically, she yanked her hand out of Jack's grasp and spun around, trying to see through the clouds of sand and snow.

Finally the dust cleared and she saw him. He was on the ground ten feet away from where he'd been before, struggling to his knees. But something wasn't right. He coughed, took a step towards her, his hand outstretched as if to pull himself through the very fabric of time and space to reach her sooner…

…and then fell.

XXXXXXXXX

_"__Takeshi!"_

That was Tooth. He didn't even have to look to see her. Her voice was so pretty, so…worried? Why was she worried? Was she worried for him?

He looked down. There was blood in the snow. He could see each drop sink in as the contrasting temperatures made the splash ever more beautiful. Blood in snow. Hmm. Somehow that didn't seem to make sense. Wasn't it his blood? Probably. He hurt all over. There was a really big cut in his back, he remembered. And his ankle really hurt when he'd tried to stand on it. And there was fear…such cold fear spreading around his body, like blooming, twirling black flowers…

The ridiculousness of the thought made him laugh, but that didn't work because the laugh somehow caught in his throat and turned into a cough. More blood dripped into the snow. But now he couldn't stop coughing…he tried to breathe but it was very hard, the blooming flowers in his chest were hot and dark and very big now…he couldn't see anything but grey and black, and he was scared…

_"__Takeshi!"_

Takeshi. Takeshi was his name.

He was _takeshi, _bright warrior.

Him. A warrior. Hah.

Yeah right.

_They were right all along, _he told the blooming black flowers. _I'm not a fighter. I'm as useless as they said. I couldn't help her — I just made all this worse._

The grey was less than a dot now in the black. He blinked back tears he couldn't see but could feel on numbing, lifeless skin.

_I've made a mess of everything, Tooth. I'm sorry._

XXXXXXXXX

When Unknown opened his eyes again there was a boy standing above him.

The boy had dark eyes, dark hair, and olive skin, just like Takeshi. But this couldn't be Takeshi. And at the same time it seemed like he should be, because when Unknown stood he realized that he and the other boy were the exact same height.

"You're…me," he stammered.

The boy gave a small smile and began toying with the braided gold string tied around his waist, much the same as Unknown did with his hoodie strings. Except that instead of a grey hoodie and jeans as was Unknown's usual wardrobe choice or even the black armor and black coat that he was wearing now, this boy wore a long, thick cloak. It was black as stereotypical for the Grim Reaper persona, but it seemed tailored more for functionality and maximum warmth, like a monk's robe.

"No," he said finally in perfect Japanese. It sounded kind of like his own, but…if he wasn't Takeshi, who was he?

"You're you," the boy continued. "I'm not."

Unknown frowned as he tried to sort the answer out. It had been ten years since he'd last conversed with anyone in his native tongue and he was a bit rusty. "Wait…" he forced out the words, "if you're not Takeshi, then…who are you?"

The cloaked boy let go of the string and then held out his hand. For once, it was his left and Unknown could reach out and shake it comfortably. It was warm, uncannily familiar, even gentle.

"My name is Death," he smiled, "and I'm here to take you home."

XXXXXXXXX

**wELL UHHHH IDK WHAT HAPPENED AT THAT LAST PART BUT IT HAPPENED AND FOR SOME REASON I'M HAPPY WITH IT BECAUSE UH I KINDA WANTED TO AVOID A CLICHÉ SO UH YEAH SORRY I GUESS UNKNOWN'S OUT OF THE PICTURE NOW HAHA OKAY BYE I'LL BE BACK UMMM EVENTUALLY WITH ANOTHER CHAPTER MAYBe,,,?**

* * *

><p><strong>(reveiw pls im having writer's block w this story and need actual advice)  
><strong>


	17. Home

**Hello hello! Going to see Inside Out very soon, so real quick upd8.  
><strong>

**This is officially where my writing starts getting really patchy. Like a lot of this stuff was written earlier and then just copy-pasted in because I don't have much time anymore nowadays, and didn't feel like rewriting. So if you notice a sudden shift in writing style anywhere from this point—onward, yes, I know about it, it's just that I got lazy or added something in a long time after I originally wrote the section.**

* * *

><p>Death and Unknown stood on the sidelines of the battle, side by side, as they watched Tooth and the younger Death scream in sync. Nightmares still surged around them and Guardians and Nightmare Children alike still fought off the creatures behind them, but they didn't seem to notice anything except the body in the snow.<p>

"They loved you?" asked the elder Death, turning to the boy.

Unknown was silent for a very long time. Jack had grabbed Tooth and practically thrown her over his shoulder before flying back to the Guardians and the other Nightmare Children, and in a very similar fashion Danger rode down on a Nightmare and took Death. The seventeen-year-old's amber eyes were wide as he stared back at Unknown's body, almost as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. Momentarily, his eyes locked on his elder counterpart before Danger threw him to the ground and yelled something to Bunnymund.

"Yes," Unknown whispered. "I think they did."

"Do you regret your choice?"

Tooth was thrashing wildly, struggling against Jack's hold to catch even a last glimpse of the child dead in the snow. But the Nightmare Children and the Guardians stood in a barricade around her, probably to protect her from Pitch (who was still on his face in the snow) and the advancing Nightmares but also blocking her view as they did so. Unknown could do nothing but watch helplessly as the group drew closer together, pressing against Bunnymund, Death and Tooth in the center until the Pooka lifted his foot and tapped it twice on the ground — opening a hole and letting the eleven kids and five immortals drop out of sight.

The hole closed up a second after they vanished but Unknown could still hear Tooth's enraged screams echoing up the tunnel.

"I regret any pain I might have caused anyone," he answered carefully, "but I don't regret my choice."

The Elder raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" he glanced up at the half moon, as if checking the time, then back down at the white-haired boy at his side. "Why do you say that?"

The child shrugged and stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat. It wasn't his coat, actually, just borrowed from his brother. Considering that Pitch had torn open the back of the coat, Unknown figured that Death wouldn't want it back.

"They're safe," he said finally. "I'm not, but I knew that in the end I wouldn't be anyway. And so I made sure that they…would."

The Elder's face remained deadpan, but he nodded.

"That's probably the first wise thing that has ever come from your mouth," he said, patting the boy's shoulder. "Now, let's go. I want you to see something.

XXXXXXXXX

For a very long time after the Guardians and his children vanished into the Pooka's blasted bunny hole, Pitch hacked at the ground and screamed. The little white flower which was the only evidence of there ever being a hole had been uprooted, stomped on, and torn to pieces by a furious Boogeyman.

What was left of the Nightmares now spun around the Nightmare King like a whirlwind made of black sand, kept aloft by his anger and reined in by the fact that he was out of energy. Gritting his teeth at the fatigue that plagued his poor old muscles and the frustration that he couldn't do anything about it except _rest, _of all things, Pitch dropped his hands and let the sand fall.

His only question was _how. How_ had — something so simple as a trade gone so horribly wrong?

_How in darkness, _he whirled on the instigator, lying helpless in the snow, _did I let this — this CHILD beat ME?_

In another flash of rage, Pitch screamed and barreled towards the boy, kicking out with all his might. Unknown flew back at the force but didn't even so much as cry out, which made Pitch even angrier until the thought sunk in.

_He didn't even cry out._

The worst premonition began biting at what little flawed conscience he had left as he stepped forward cautiously. The boy was on his back with his head tilted limply to the side. He might've been asleep if you ignored the dark-colored blood dribbling down his chin, or even unconscious if you ignored the fact that he was absolutely, perfectly, deathly still.

Slowly, as if moving through syrup, Pitch knelt and nudged his son's shoulder. "Unknown," he snapped, clenching his fists in case the boy did in fact stand up and try to fight him again. "Open your eyes — "

But there was no reaction.

Finally Pitch tried something that the darkness inside would definitely regret. In all the ten years with the children, he avoided them as much as possible, leaving domestic needs like being tucked into bed and kissing boo-boos all better to each other. And whenever possible, he tried to never touch them. Children, even teenagers, were too warm, too _sticky _to be deigned touchable by the Nightmare King. In short, physical contact made him extremely uncomfortable and he didn't quite know why.

But today was a special case. He'd seen parents do this occasionally when one of their children were sick, and he'd picked up somewhere that hot meant a fever and cold most likely meant dead. Bracing himself, Pitch reached down, brushed Unknown's silver hair away from his forehead, and placed his palm on the boy's skin.

Ice cold. Colder than even usual.

Pitch was quick to yank his hand away and even quicker to stand straight. The entire thing was so ridiculous that he didn't want to believe it — him, kill a child? Impossible. Maybe his magic, yes, or the effects of his fear and even the thoughts that came from them, yes that was very possible that those would indirectly lead to the death of a child…but he surely couldn't have killed Unknown, not here, not like that —

He wouldn't believe it.

_I won't believe it…_

The words drew an intake of breath from him, and somewhere below he felt a small spurt of fear.

But it was too late.

_His daughter lay, perfectly still, on the bed under the rich embroidered blankets. She was alive, said the doctor, but for whatever reason she wouldn't wake up. It was a new, rare strain of the plague; they'd just discovered it and were still developing a cure…_

_ "__But don't worry," the doctor assured him and his wife, "the second we've made sure the cure is safe, you'll be first in line. It hits the young ones hardest and Seraphina's among the youngest we've seen…"_

_He looked down at the two-year-old girl on the bed, blinking back his tears. She was so peaceful, so normal-looking…he could almost pretend that the redness in her cheeks was from too much time spent in the Karilian sun and not from the ravaging fever…_

_He reached out to brush back her ink-black hair and touch her olive skin just to make sure, just to feel the heat again and snap himself back into reality because he was a man of the real and not of dreams…_

_Even if reality's odds were against his daughter's survival…_

_He touched her deathly hot/deathly cold forehead —_

A howl split the air and Pitch reeled back, grasping at his hand. It burned. It burned of heat, it burned of cold, it burned of memory and the present. The voices in his head screamed louder than ever — no words this time, just screams. They were deafening. And they hurt…

"STOP IT!" Pitch yelled and drove his hands into his ears. He was on his knees and his face was in the snow, but he didn't care. He wouldn't care until the screams stopped. "_SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU — !"_

His voice echoed in the clearing. He realized this a few seconds before he realized that the other voices were silent.

He forced himself to sit up, even as his entire body quivered with adrenaline. The voices were silent. He was alone now.

Alone with some nightmare sand and a dead child.

XXXXXXXXX

The Grim Reaper could fly. With a snap of his fingers he could summon a pair of wings — huge majestic ones with black feathers that shimmered green, violet and blue in moonlight. Unknown definitely hadn't known that before — and he definitely didn't know that Death the Elder took passengers. He simply hoisted Unknown under his arm and took off into the air, letting his passenger scream until he got tired and reminded the boy that he was already dead.

That made the journey a lot less terrifying.

From that little clearing in the woods of Burgess, Pennsylvania, the Elder and the Nightmare Child soared across a clear starlit and moonlit sky, due west. In the time it took to cross America, the Elder dipped down to the surface six times.

And in that time, Unknown saw six places that, for a moment, made him forget.

First they saw Mother Nature in action, perched atop the Willis Tower and spinning a snowstorm above Indiana and Illinois. She smiled mysteriously and waved to them as they passed, and both waved back.

_She really is a lot like Tempest, _Unknown thought as he met the woman's eyes. They were green and blue in her stormy light, with lightning dancing around her elusive smile._ I wonder…?_

He didn't have much time to wonder, though, as the Elder sped up and took them under and around the St. Louis Arc a few times. At first it was terrifying as the Elder spun him upside-down, but he didn't let go and eventually, Unknown started to realize that flying was…fun.

They flew above the fields of Kansas and both boys ran across a few fences and teased some cows before taking off again.

As they passed over the Appalachians, they kicked off the snowy tops of a few mountains.

They then turned south and the Elder flew him through ravines of an indescribably beautiful stone canyon that must have been the Grand Canyon, which was so amazing that even the Elder forgot that he was supposed to be flying and accidentally crashed into a column.

Seeing as neither passenger nor pilot were technically alive, it wasn't a problem and they just got back up and kept flying.

They passed over California, the state of eternal summer and eternal daytime. It seemed as if everyone in every southern city of the state was awake…even though the sky was dark, there were cars everywhere. The Golden Gate Bridge was strung with end-to-end yellow headlights and red taillights, resembling some sort of giant necklace in the light of the moon.

The Elder kept flying west.

As they passed over the Pacific Ocean, the sun began to creep up again as if the rotation of the earth had switched. The moon dipped below the horizon and was seen no more as the sky became molten gold in their reversed sunrise.

The Elder brought them down, close to the surface of the water, and Unknown reached down and let his fingers skim the rippling waves. Sea spray flew out behind them and for the first time in a very long time, Unknown laughed.

"This is — awesome!" he finally found the word. "Oh, I wonder if Tooth ever tried this — "

He trailed off and said no more for a very long time.

The Elder glanced down at his passenger, seemed to sense what he was thinking, and then returned to focusing on flying. The sky was now the dull grey of snow clouds. In the distance, the Elder could see ships.

"We're almost there," he said.

"We're almost where?" his passenger asked, obviously confused.

The Elder didn't reply. He flew past the ships and towards the large island beyond it, into the capital city and down to the poorer district. He could see recognition blooming in Unknown's wide silver eyes as he flew back to the years before Pitch…

Finally the Elder landed on the fire escape of a shabby apartment building and set Unknown down next to him. Without hesitating he flicked his fingers towards the window and it unlocked from the inside, letting him pry its panels open and gesture for Unknown to step right on in — into the room in which a frightened four-year-old once crouched as he listened to his parents fight.

"Home," Death said.

XXXXXXXXX

When Bunny's hole spat out the Guardians and Nightmare Children into the Globe Room, it opened up in a wall and left them all on the ground.

Bunny, Jack, and Danger, naturally, were the only three left standing.

"Dude!" Danger laughed, holding up her hand to give Bunny a high five. "That tunnel thing? That was _awesome! _We so gotta do that again!"

When both Bunny and Jack ignored her and walked away to help up the others, she got the message and put down her hand.

"Well, that was really awkward," she exhaled uncomfortably, perfectly aware that Shame was looking at her right now.

Bunny went first to Tooth, of course, whom the other Guardians were also currently crowding the feathers out of. They were all over her — checking to make sure that she wasn't injured, that Pitch hadn't mistreated her or anything, asking repeatedly if he'd provided for her correctly, inquiring if she needed anything now, panicking over the scrapes on her wrists and ankles where the chains had shredded her feathers and rubbed the soft skin underneath raw. The sudden flurry of worry over her was overwhelming for the confused little fairy, especially as all she wanted right now was to know if her little boy was all right.

But the male Guardians kept crowding her and the Nightmare Children kept staring at them as if they'd all just dropped from Mars.

Tooth didn't know what to say. Her mind was whizzing at a million miles an hour, trying to sort itself out especially as the voices of ten thousand fairies flooded in.

_Mother! _they all chirped as one. _Where were you? We've been so worried! Bri told us that you'd been kidnapped but she wouldn't say anything else! What happened? Was it Pitch? Was it the Nightmare Children? Are you all right? What happened to Bindi, Bri, Bava and Bellon? Why didn't you talk to us?_

_I was…I'm fine, _she tried to say, but she was cut off.

"Tooth!" Jack crushed her in a hug — the little winter sprite might've been skinny as a flagpole, but he had strength in his sticklike arms that you wouldn't believe until you were killed by one of his appropriately named "boa constrictor hugs". "Thank stars you're all right — but — but if Pitch hurt you, I swear I will track him down and make him pay for every time he laid a finger on you — "

"Oh, I'll do better than that," Bunny growled, cracking his knuckles. "I'll make him wish he was never born, that…"

Again Tooth tried to protest that she was fine but this time, it was North who cut her off as he picked her up and carried her over to a big, comfy armchair.

"Sit!" he commanded, even though she was already sitting. Two Yetis came with a warm blanket and draped her in it, taking extra care to cover everything except her wings. A few awkwardly-grinning elves hopped over with plates of already-been-chewed cookies and another handed her a mug of warm soy milk.

Meanwhile, North was bellowing at some Yetis to get the medics and a lot of first aid kits, mostly to tend to Tooth but also for any wounds the Nightmare Children might've had.

Tooth's fairies were still yelling at her.

_Mother! Are you even listening?! Please come back soon, we miss you and the palace is out of control! There's been so much confusion with tower 3-16A! All the boxes just shot out and they won't stay back in! And Manoushka got stuck in a spiderweb on her rounds and her wings are all sticky now and we can't get the stuff off without your cobweb comb and we can't find that anywhere, and Sajani almost had her head taken off by an owl and she's in shock, and Sunil and Mara got in a huge fight about —_

"No," Jack was yelling, "I said I'd make him pay _first!"_

Bunny gave the winter spirit that _we-both-know-I-know-far-more-than-you-little-imp. _"Oh yeah? This is coming from the spirit who barely managed to get Tooth and that gold-eyed moron away from Pitch _alive, _much less himself _— "_

"Excuse me?" Death stepped forward, arms folded in front of him. _"What _did you just call me, kangaroo?"

"OHOHO!" Jack's mouth spread into a devilish grin. "He just _told _you!"

Bunny's green eyes went to slits and he faced the Second Nightmare Child with his shoulders set and ready for a fight. "What did _you _just call _me, _that's what the question is — "

_Mother we're really sorry, _the fairies kept rambling, _we just can't manage this system on our own, you really need to come back — we managed to keep the believers by leaving notes that we're going through a few construction things and technical difficulties but — oh Mother we're so behind, it's crazy and we're just going to ruin everything, we're so sorry —_

"Yetis! Hurry! And — oi, out of de way, elves, shoo! Why you always getting under boot — "

"Yes, that's right. I called you. A _kangaroo."_

"Sandy, give Toothy a bit of sand stuff, yes, she needs calm her joints — "

"Ah, North, I think that'd be her _nerves."_

"BAH! Whatever."

_— __we tried to make the notes sound nice and kind but then Kira had to put in "technical difficulties" and I think that scared a couple of the kids —_

"I am a _Pooka, _for your bloody royal information, the last of a superior race of — "

"Of what?"

"Don't. Even. _Dare _say — "

_"__Kangaroos?"_

"Agh. English is so weird."

_Mother! You're not listening!_

It was too much for the fairy. Tooth threw off the blanket, spiraled into the air, and whirled around to face the rabble.

_ "__SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!"_

Surprisingly, they did. In fact, the entire Pole went silent at the sound of her voice.

"Now," she continued, looking at each pair of eyes fixed on her, "can someone tell me that I am not the only one who remembered Ta — "

She stopped, then corrected herself.

"Unknown?"

If it had been silent before, it was even more so now as even movement ceased. Slowly, each person began looking at his neighbor, as if hoping they weren't alone in forgetting.

"I…" Death swallowed the lump in his throat as every eye now turned to him. "I saw him. Before we left, I saw him, and my…"

He trailed off and said no more as he was currently more interested in staring numbly at the floor.

"And…your what?" Tooth asked hesitantly, almost afraid to know the answer.

The teen looked up sharply and met her eyes. Fear in both pairs, gold and violet alike.

"My namesake. Unknown was with my namesake, Death…"

XXXXXXXXX

The tiny room was obviously lived in — the bed, which was the same one that Unknown remembered feeling so tiny in, was unmade and the dresser crammed in the corner sported small trinkets on the top and clothes inside. A boy's clothes, maybe for a kid ten or twelve years old. Academic certificates and colorful posters were tacked up all over the walls, advertising American superhero films, Shingeki no Kyojin, and baseball players. A worn baseball glove was among some of the things atop the dresser, right next to a tiny, framed picture of a preteen boy holding a bat. And next to that picture was a slightly larger one — one of a Japanese man, a white woman, a three-year-old boy, and his infant brother. All smiling — except for the infant who was just staring at the camera as if thinking _Wait…what?_

"This is Makito's room now," Unknown whispered, touching the picture. A small bit of dust came off with his finger, but even as he looked at it, the dust flew back to where it came.

No trace that Unknown had ever been here.

He looked back. Death the Elder stood in the exact center of the room, not touching anything, not doing anything, just watching him.

"I watched Makito Itou ever since Pitch took you," he said in a very low, quiet voice.

_That doesn't sound creepy at all_, Unknown wanted to say, but since this was the Grim Reaper and he was just a little dead boy, he kept his mouth shut.

The Elder turned slowly, casting his eyes all around the room. "Your parents," he said, glancing at the family photo, "hated me."

"You?"

"Me. Death. Your disappearance brought them closer together in their sorrow, but they despised me — they knew you'd be in a better place but they blamed me for taking you while still so young…"

"But _you_ didn't take me, Pitch did…"

"Death is blamed for everything." He shrugged and started toying with the gold braid around his waist again. "Then again, I do cause most everything too so they're not in the wrong for generalizing. But this isn't about me. Makito — "

He stopped, took a breath, and continued in a very soft voice.

"For some reason, as much as your parents hated and feared me, Makito didn't.

"He was a strange boy, that one…stranger than you even. He didn't fear me and he didn't blame me either. He had the same sharp mind as you, that boy, and even as an infant he remembered every second you two spent together. He knew you better than you did…and when you vanished, he reassured himself that you'd be back. He doesn't quite think about it as much now, but he never let go of that hope."

The new information nearly took Unknown's breath away, but it didn't because he was dead and didn't have to breathe. Eyes wide, he sat down on the bed with his hands in his lap. The mattress didn't even sink from his weight, as he didn't have any weight.

"What happened to my parents?"

The Elder was quiet for a very long time, his dark eyes fixed on the family in the photo. It was an unreal family, something that wasn't anymore, trapped forever in the confines of smiles and the black plastic frame even as they mourned for a boy with white hair and mirror eyes.

"Follow me," he finally said, and opened the bedroom door.

XXXXXXXXX

He couldn't just leave the body lying there in the snow. He had to do something, at least.

Before Pitch knew it he was dragging a teenager's body down the dark, cold corridors of the lair, looking for some place to hide it.

His muscles shook from fatigue and anxiety and he felt as restless as a spooked cat. He wasn't thinking straight, he knew that much. If even so much as a rat scurried out from the wall, he'd probably panic. He was in no condition to be hiding a body.

But he had to do something with it. He couldn't just leave it.

What would happen if the kids came home? If they ever regained their senses and decided to come back to his side, at least. But what if they did? What if they did and they found the corpse of their little brother? Would they care? Would they turn on Pitch if they found that his nightmares had killed their brother? Or would they just shake it off and think that he was just a clumsy fool, not worth the oxygen he breathed anyway?

If Pitch hid the evidence where no one would ever find it, was it possible that the Nightmare Children might not even notice the disappearance of their brother?

Maybe.

So he had to hide it well…somewhere where they never looked and never went, somewhere where the smell of decaying flesh would either be not noticed or covered up…at first Pitch had considered Room 12 (bring in a little poetic flair there, hiding the kid in the confines of his own bedroom) but no, no. If they figured out that he was missing, that'd be one of the first places they'd look.

Then another thought occurred to Pitch. What if the Nightmare Children didn't forget? They all saw the showdown between Pitch's sand and Unknown's. No one could forget that…and judging by Tooth's reactions during the battle, she clearly cared for Unknown and most likely wouldn't shut up about him afterwards, if she saw him fall which she most definitely did.

So…that ruled out that option, the one about hiding evidence and pretending like nothing happened. But even still, he had to hide the body _somewhere. _There had been cases — rare cases and only one in the past ten years — where random cave explorers had found his lair purely by accident, and of course there was the famous incident with the pizza guy. Each time Pitch had successfully knocked them out and, when they woke up in their own beds at home, manipulated their memories so it just seemed like one really weird dream. But what if one day someone found a boy's body down here and Pitch couldn't erase their memory of it for whatever reason? _What then?! _That could mean armies of police officers, military men, news teams, even — he shuddered at this last thought — _tourists _to his home! And once the word was out like that, even fear couldn't stop that amount of curiosity…

**Stop it! **the voices snapped. **You're being paranoid. There's a million to one chance of any outsiders finding this place and a million to one chance of them finding one body in this maze.**

Yes, that was very much right.

**You don't need to waste time looking for a place where no one can ever find it, just where the children can't.**

And to hide something where the children can't find it is to hide it in a place they never go.

The thought hit him like a freight train and at it, he grinned from ear to ear. None of the kids, except the one he was trying to hide, ever went down there…and if the Guardians (namely that pesky fairy-queen) ever came looking, it would be a nice ominous touch, maybe even serve as a kind of warning.

Toothiana's prison cell.

XXXXXXXXX

Unknown knew, even before looking out, what would be beyond his old bedroom door. It was an extremely strange feeling, like he'd been here before in a different body. Which he kind of had, if you counted his four-year-old body as different.

There was the kitchen down the hall, right where it had always been. Same kitchen table, three chairs. There were the ugly plastic-coated countertops, the off-white fridge, and the microwave that used to have a cracked handle, but seemed to have now been replaced with a new one. Cheerful yellow curtains — those were new — hung over the window above the sink, letting sunlight filter in. The kitchen was neat and tidy, just like his parents liked it, even though there were three new water stains in the ceiling and the wallpaper was peeling off more than ever.

The tooth box had given him his memories, but it was here that they came to life again. He could smell the noodles cooking and taste the milk again, hear the laughter of his baby brother and, on the other end of the spectrum, angry arguing voices.

But the Elder didn't stay; he kept walking past the kitchen. Shaking himself out of his reminiscent reverie, Unknown followed his guide…to his parents' bedroom.

The Elder entered without hesitation.

"Sometimes Death brings people together in a different kind of way," he said, and gestured towards the bedside table.

With slow, doubtful steps, the other boy made his way towards the bedside table. On it sat a lamp, an alarm clock, and a tiny framed photo.

He picked up the photo.

His mother and father were there, looking a few years older than he'd last seen them but still just as bright in their smiles. Makito was at Mama's side — maybe six years old at the time. By the looks of it, they were in a sports stadium of some sort, probably baseball judging by the baseball caps on Daddy's and Makito's heads.

What attracted Unknown's attention the most was that his mother, sitting awkwardly straight, had rested her hand under a rounded stomach.

"She would have been your little sister," said the Elder quietly.

Would have been. Unknown set the picture down and looked at the spirit, suddenly very scared. "What…happened to her?"

Death looked down at his hands, folded in front of him, as if ashamed. "Stillborn. Strangled by her own umbilical cord."

The boy's stomach lurched and, somehow dizzy, he balanced himself against the wall. "What did my…?"

"Your parents do? Well…they stopped trying. She wasn't even the first."

His voice lowered to a whisper.

"Your mother lost three other children after you, all in an attempt to fill the empty place you left. Makito became all they had."

Something rose up in Unknown's throat and he swallowed to keep it down — sorrow. He knew it.

The tears came and fell, spectral and intangible as he was.

XXXXXXXXX

"Are you sure that Pitch didn't…you know…do anything to her?"

North turned around and looked at the young winter spirit. The boy was wide-eyed and more anxious than any of the Guardians had ever seen him. Jack hardly ever stood still, but he usually didn't move this much either. He was bouncing from foot to foot, sliding his hand around the hook of his staff, and giving off frost everywhere. Every few seconds, he would look into the guest room where Toothiana sat alone on a cushioned stool, her legs crossed, eyes closed, and palms up as if she was meditating. She faced the window and the moon, which shone into the dark room full and bright. Bri, reunited at last with her mother, perched quietly on her shoulder.

"I mean," Jack was trying to make his voice low but whispering was really not his strong suit, "this isn't really a Tooth thing, if you know what I mean. It's…kinda weird. She's trying to reach her fairies and have them rescue a dead kid. I'm sorry he died, but — that was the reason he stayed behind, right?"

North pondered it for a while, and then he looked down at the boy and exhaled slowly.

"We protect children," he said quietly. "It is our job, as Guardians. But then sometimes children protect us. Remember last battle, with Jamie?"

Jack nodded, not understanding what he was getting at.

"What would you have done if Jamie hadn't won?"

The boy was taken aback by this and almost horrified as the thought settled in. If Jamie hadn't been able to overcome the Nightmares in that battle nearly eleven years ago, he probably wouldn't have made it out alive. That much poisonous fear inside such a young heart would surely kill him or at least severely injure him for life.

"I…" Jack scrambled for words. "I'd avenge him, and try to protect the others, and — I guess maybe if I could, I'd argue with the Reaper and try to heal him — but what does that have to do with…"

"It has _everything _to do, Jack," North put his hand on the boy's shoulder and with the other gestured to the fairy-girl inside the room. "The little boy stepped in front of Tooth just as Jamie did for you, for all of us — the only difference is that he didn't make it."

Jack looked down at his feet. "I guess."

"There's a bit more to it, I think."

Both Guardians turned around at the voice.

The Nightmare Children, Bunny, and Sandy had crowded around the big fireplace after Tooth had secluded herself to the guest room. Currently they still were, and Death and Bunny were having what appeared to be a "let's glare at each other across the room and see how long we can keep from outright strangling each other" match.

However, one Nightmare Child had detached herself from the group and stood behind Jack and North, hugging herself in her overlarge black sweater.

Pain glanced into the room, then shook her head, turned and began walking back towards her siblings without explaining what she meant. Jack, impulsive and curious as always, practically skated to her side on his own ice. No, of course he didn't walk or run. Walking and running were for lesser mortals.

"Whoa whoa whoa — wait a second!" he called to her. "Whaddya mean, _more to it? _What, you don't just tell a guy something like that and leave — "

The Nightmare girl turned so sharply that her hair whirled out and brushed his nose. She was an inch taller than him, Jack realized in that awkward moment that most guys have when faced with the knowledge that they're standing next to a girl who's taller than them. He coughed and used the action to disguise the fact that he was trying to stand a bit straighter and at the same time think of something to say.

"I mean…yeah," he floundered weakly, somewhat intimidated by her intense gaze. "That. Um…hi."

Pain raised a delicate eyebrow, then exhaled. "I guess I should explain, then. Mind you, if Tooth finds out I told you, she might become angry that I'm saying it like this."

"So…it is about Tooth?"

She glanced up at North, who had spontaneously appeared behind Jack with no warning or other alerting noise like so many old rotund people have the uncanny talent of doing.

"Jack?" the man said, raising an eyebrow. "What is going on?"

"I, ah…" Jack looked at Pain, half-expecting to see a devilish smirk of the kind he used with Bunny in these kinds of situations. It'd make sense now that he was on the other end of the weapon, so to speak. But instead of a smirk, the girl's face was expressionless. "Nothing, she just said there's more, and so I asked her what, that's all — "

"No Frost, it's fine." Pain sighed again, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and looked back at Toothiana, still meditating in the guest room. "I meant her greatest fear."

North got a look on his face like _I see what you're getting at, though I'm not sure if I like it. _Jack just looked stunned. "Wait, what?" he spluttered. "Whaddya mean, '_her greatest fear'? _Tooth isn't afraid! She's — she's the bravest girl I know and she's got all she could ever want! There's nothing she could be _afraid _of…"

"So you don't know." The Nightmare girl reached up to her hair again, took a long red-and-black lock, and began to twirl it — not like some girls did, to attract boys and look cute, but instead slowly and almost sadly, as if it was the only way to take her mind off her own pain.

"I thought you would at least know each other's greatest fears, what with you being such a close-knit group and all." Her voice was very low and at the last phrase, it dripped with sarcasm. "Yours, we all know yours, Frost — that people will stop believing in you and that you'll never know the _why _behind everything bad that happens to you. The Unknown."

Jack's eyes widened but he said nothing, only looked down to where frost swirled out beneath his bare feet.

"North…" Pain turned to the man, casting her eyes quickly over him before turning them back to her lock of hair. "You have very little fear, though few are truly fearless. You have some of me, some of my sister Suffering and my brother Wrath, and scatterings of the others — but all for others, interesting. You fear only for others' torment and never for your own, even when faced with torture unto Death. That's an honorable thing. I can't say that for most."

She looked up and down the hall, where they could clearly see the other two Guardians horsing around with the Nightmare Children. Death and Bunny had reverted to a full-out staring competition, of which Sandy was the referee. By the looks of it, Death was winning.

"The Sandman is much the same. The Pooka, however…" Pain's voice faltered and she let go of her hair. "He fears my brother, Death…but even more he fears the girl he loves. He faces danger unflinchingly but secretly dreads it over anything else…he doubts himself most of the time, thinks that maybe one day he'll just not be good enough and turn tail like the coward he thinks he was all those years ago, when he was the only one left standing because he was the only one who hadn't fought."

Jack felt a cold lump rise in his throat, like he'd swallowed an ice cube and had it come back up again like ice cubes tended to do with him. "You mean the…"

"The extermination of the Pooka race." North finished, sorrow in his eyes. Jack could see why Pain had said what she had about his fear as the fear for others' suffering. The man was close to tears by this point. "What about Toothy, then?"

"She and I," the girl hugged herself again as she slid her booted foot across the ground, running it along Jack's thin layer of spreading ice. "I was the one to attack her in the first battle. I targeted her because, well, she was the only one I could find…Tempest called you, Frost; Dark and Wrath were already at North; Suffering had the Sandman and Danger had Bunnymund…all perfectly matched, too — the two elementals, the three swordsmen, the two below-average-height whipmasters, and the two crazy acrobats…"

Jack snorted. "Yeah, I thought that was a bit too weird. The author _says _she was young and inexperienced back then — "

**("I ****_was,_****" DarkHorseBlueSky sniffed, rolling her eyes. "And now I'm just too lazy to change it. Don't rub it in my face.")**

"But still…what does that have to do with anything?"

"I wanted to kill a Guardian, that's it." She shrugged nonchalantly. "Helping the siege was one thing. Dad wanted it of all of us. Killing a Guardian, though…" Her voice took on a wistful tone as she sighed, like she really truly had wanted to make her father proud. "Well, it was a different level altogether. We all dreamed to do it someday. And so I hung back, waiting to find the one who I could use my fear on. Toothiana was the best option there was, because if there is one thing she fears, and there is one — it's pain."

The silhouetted figure facing the moon looked a lot smaller now. Smaller, now even frightened.

"I don't think you know what it's like, being a woman — a mother, a daughter, a sister — someone who feels, someone who knows…you don't know what it's like, all these emotions, the maternal instincts being assigned to the most heartless field out there. Memories aren't like fun, or wonder, or hope and good dreams…good dreams turn to nightmares often but memories _are _nightmares. Memories — even looking at them, gathering them from so many kids who God knows what's really happening to them — I imagine that most memories are nightmares of the worst kinds, the ones that you can't pretend aren't real."

She turned and met Jack's eyes and then North's before turning back to Tooth. "She fears me because I'm all she is. She lost her parents, you know, and then shortly after that she was given memories as her center. Sweet memories, that's what she tries to keep — she keeps them to cover up all the pain inside every child's heart because she's felt it in her own. She knows what it's like to lose everything before her very eyes, and she fears the day she'll feel it again. She…doesn't just fear the day she'll lose someone…"

When she spoke again, her voice was so quiet they could barely hear her.

"…she fears the emptiness that wants to have them back."

XXXXXXXXX

The Elder took him and they flew away from the apartment together, neither of them saying a word. Still they flew west against the sun.

They passed over the Himalayas and from the sky, they could see the glinting gold of Toothiana's palace. The Elder offered a quick visit before they finished the trip, but Unknown shook his head. He didn't want to be reminded of Tooth any more.

So they kept flying. The Elder did not touch down once.

To them the sun set in the east and once again they were enshrouded in night. The half-moon watched from above, so tiny and far away.

The Elder touched down and set Unknown next to him. His spectral feet touched cold snow. Bewildered, the boy looked around at the trees, the hole in the ground, and the disrupted snow dotted with blood.

"But…this is Burgess forest," he tried to protest, but the Elder pressed one finger against his lips in the universal gesture for silence.

"I know," Death said. "Follow."

His wings had somehow vanished when Unknown wasn't looking, and so it was easy enough for him to walk over to the entrance of Pitch's lair and jump right in. Unknown had no other choice than to follow and so he did, stepping off the edge into darkness.

Apparently being immortal had benefits, one of which was a crazy control of balance and landing, because while the Elder landed on his toes, Unknown just fell on his face. It didn't hurt because he was dead, but whatever. It was still kinda embarrassing anyway.

The Elder helped him to his feet and led him down the familiar dark corridor into another familiar dark corridor…this was most definitely not heaven or the underworld; this was the place he'd grown up in for ten years! Sure, the little Japanese apartment was home…but this was the place in which he'd run and played hide-and-go-seek with eleven kids he knew better than he did himself. (If there was only one training game he was good at, and there was only one, it was hide-and-go-seek.)

They turned down the hall that went to the library and more memories came back. He remembered a girl Pitch had hired once to watch them, back when they were young. Phoenix, she called herself. She watched him in the library…him, Death, Dark, and even Solitude for a time. They'd had so much fun together as kids…

But the Elder didn't stop there. He took Unknown down more hallways, more stairs, all familiar. Down to the dungeons, he realized after a time. He'd discovered first love there. But why would they be going there now…?

He tried to voice the question, but the Elder gave him the finger of silence again and he shut up. They stopped in the deepest shadows near Tooth's old cell and stood for a very long time.

He could sense some of the ghosts in the opposite corner. They were staring at him.

_This is none of your business, _he told them.

They all started muttering stuff like _Well, someone's in a great mood today_ and _Even I wasn't that crabby when I died, and I was given the electric chair. _As was typical of the Tuesday crowd. Sarcastic as all Hades.

Sometimes dead people drove him crazy.

Finally, after another very long time, Unknown summoned the courage to speak to Death again.

"Now what?" he asked the Elder.

The Elder looked at him. They were the same height and probably the same weight, but for some reason the Elder seemed so much bigger. Older, too, but that much was kinda obvious considering that, well, Death the Elder was_ Death_. He'd been around since Cain and Abel and hadn't gone anywhere else since. His eyes were young and dark just like the rest of his current body, but there was a hard glint in them that told the eons more effectively than any words.

"Now," Death said, "we wait."

Pitch's footsteps echoed on the cold stone walls.


	18. Silver

The sharp, echoing sounds seemed like gunshots in Unknown's ears as he realized what they meant — Pitch was coming. He looked over at Death the Elder, who didn't seem alarmed at all.

"Even if Pitch could see us we still wouldn't go anywhere," the Elder cut in just as Unknown opened his mouth. "It'd be funny to just thrust out your soul and prove your death to him, don't you think?"

Whatever Unknown had been about to say, he forgot it. He stared at the Elder, perfectly aware of the disturbed look on his own face. The more he was around this guy the more weirded out he got…maybe the Elder and his brother weren't so different after all. They both had that strange, twisted, morbid sense of humor. Unknown wondered if they ever hung out, because they'd make great friends.

"Yeah," he said slowly, taking a few steps back when he thought the Elder wasn't looking. "Hilarious."

They waited a few more seconds in the awkward silence before the rusting iron door to the dungeon crashed open, making both Unknown and the Elder jump. And there Pitch was, in all his shadows and glory, dripping wet and dragging a body…

Wait, what?

A closer look at the body as Pitch tramped closer, pulling it along the ground behind him by its arms, told Unknown that 'it' was actually him. Granted, he was dead, but even if he wasn't he still wouldn't have looked all too hot. Pitch obviously hadn't taken any time out to make sure he was comfortable and wouldn't become too scraped up before taking his wrists and pulling him, facedown, across the rough stone ground. Unknown actually winced. Good thing he was dead, so he didn't have to feel that. To be completely honest, he was the kind of kid who had to try not to freak out when he got a papercut.

"Glad you're dead now, huh?" the Elder smirked. Seriously, was this guy telepathic or something?

Shivering, Unknown pulled his eyes away from his own body and towards Pitch. He didn't look all too hot either, truth to be told. Yes, he most definitely was dripping wet. Probably from rolling around in the snow or something. Some of it was from blood, like the stuff all over his hands that didn't look like his own. There was even a little bit smeared on his cheek in a perfect diagonal stripe, ruined only by the clear wet trail that had carved its way through it.

Pitch was _crying._

His teeth were clenched like he was angry and his hands trembled as if he was scared, yet the tears were still there streaming down his cheeks. Small, guttural choking noises came from his mouth as he sobbed, and it wasn't until Pitch was closer did either Unknown or the Elder realize that the noises were actually words.

"Soldier…" Pitch growled. "Traitor…cursed…Fearlings…"

He stumbled over nothing and used his free hands to balance himself against the wall alarmingly close to Unknown. This made the boy wonder, briefly, what actually would happen if Pitch moved through the spot that his spectral body was occupying. Would he just pass through him? Well, he was literally a nonentity now, so probably.

He still moved away. He'd been ignored so much of his life, he didn't want to know what it felt like to not exist at all.

Pitch wasn't aware of a thing. He still leaned shaking against the wall and stared at the ground, eyes bulging and wild.

Suddenly, his head shot up and he stood straight. Both boys were alarmed to see the expression on his face — it was madness, pure and raw. The grin stretched wider than mouths should, revealing nasty yellow teeth clenched together so tightly they were in danger of cracking. The choked words in his throat, barely audible by this point, began tripping over each other until they became a laugh.

The laugh grew from a chuckle, louder and harder until Pitch was bent almost backwards with his head tilted up and fingers flexed into claws. It was a real evil laugh now, except that this didn't seem to be just Pitch. It sounded like Pitch was leading a hundred other voices in a horrible, piercing chorus. The shadows flinched and faltered, and even Death the Elder took a step back.

"Oh dear…" the Elder finally exhaled.

"He's…gone completely mad," Unknown whispered.

"HA!" Pitch suddenly whirled on the body on the floor and pointed a long spindly finger at it. "Got what you deserved, didn't you, traitor?!"

Unknown's dead body, as expected, said nothing.

Neither could the soul that once inhabited it, as he'd been knocked speechless.

Pitch just kept laughing in his hundred voices, the volume escalating until he was nearly shrieking. No, not Pitch. The other voices screamed at a frequency that could break glass, making Unknown and the Elder throw their hands over their ears. Even Pitch started to claw at the sides of his head and neck, his face now contorted in what looked like…horror.

And then all at once it went silent, and Pitch crumpled to the ground.

Both boys winced, but only the Elder dared lean down and examine Pitch more closely. The Boogeyman, pushing himself up to his knees, suddenly seemed weak and surprisingly _human_ as he struggled for breath and shuddered in fatigue. For a moment he even seemed to be bowing before Death, literally and metaphorically.

"You were such a fool, Pitch Black," the Elder spat, standing straight again. It really was an intriguing picture, the Nightmare King on his hands and knees before a remarkably short teenage boy. We can't forget that the boy was still the ageless Grim Reaper, but the scene still fascinated Unknown. He almost felt like he was the one standing above Pitch instead…like by meeting Death, he had risen above the ones still entrapped in the pain of immortality — of never being released from this world, of seeing generations come and go and slide further into helplessness, of watching countless human lives slip away while you never age…

Crap. He was being poetic again, wasn't he?

Meanwhile, the Elder had stepped back and Pitch had stood up again. Grunting from the effort it took to at least move again, he rubbed his forehead and looked around. Through his eyes, he saw nothing except that he was alone.

"Alone with a body," Pitch whispered, only barely loud enough for Unknown to hear. "My son, I did this…"

He looked down and Unknown followed his eyes. At their feet was the shell of what used to be a boy, waiting for nothing.

Suddenly he turned and, with a grunt, he threw open the door to Toothiana's former cell, then bent down and picked up Unknown's body in both arms. Like a father carrying his sleeping child Pitch took the body into the cell and slowly, almost gently, lay it down on the iron bed. Then he straightened up and just stood there, his back to the Elder and Unknown. For a few seconds Pitch didn't move but then he reached down and pushed back the folds of Unknown's coat to reveal the black metal armor that had done the boy no good.

"What's he doing?" Unknown asked, confused.

In response the Elder just shrugged. "Don't ask me."

Pitch didn't stop to explain; he just kept working. Swiftly he drew out a dagger of nightmare sand and slashed the straps of the breastplate in order to pull it off. Underneath the armor was Unknown's favorite grey hoodie, and again without hesitation Pitch grabbed the fabric and cut it and the t-shirt underneath open, leaving the dead boy's chest bare.

"But…that was my favorite hoodie," Unknown said in a very small voice.

"Don't wear your best suit to your last stand," the Elder smirked. "Oh, have I heard so much about that from the customers…" He sighed as if remembering the good old days, but then it tapered off into something sadder and he shook his shaggy dark head. "This…this is different though. What in stars _is_ he doing?"

Pitch stood still now with his hands on the body's bare skin, as if checking for a heartbeat. Aside from that, he wasn't moving.

Unknown looked over at his companion. "Can I, I don't know, get a closer look?"

The Elder raised a thin dark eyebrow, then shrugged again and looked away. "If you think that's a good idea, go ahead."

For some reason Unknown didn't like the sound of that — it reminded him of a particular scene from a book where things hadn't gone well for the boy who thought it was a good idea — but he went ahead anyway. He crept towards Pitch, choosing his steps carefully so as to be far enough away to the Boogeyman that if he turned around he wouldn't pass right through him, but close enough that he could at least see Pitch's face.

The Nightmare King's eyes were shut, his jaw set firmly, and his eyebrows furrowed like he was concentrating. His right hand rested on Unknown's uncovered skin, right over his heart, and his left hand on his forehead. His fingers were spread out, which allowed Unknown to get a better view of the dark spot where his heart was.

Black veins, like discolored blood, crept out from beneath Pitch's hand, under Unknown's pale, almost translucent, skin. It kind of resembled an old ball of yarn in the way the veins all returned to a central mass which was mostly hidden under Pitch's palm. The dark threads didn't stretch far from the core; none went further than a few inches away. But even as the only destroyed thing was the heart, the entire body was affected.

Unknown wasn't aware he was stepping backwards until he found himself pressed up against the wall. He could feel a lump in his throat as he stared at the black spiderweb underneath his body's skin. That's what killed him. Nightmare sand. He had literally died of fear.

Unknown swallowed the lump and looked again, but this time at Pitch. The Nightmare King hadn't moved. His face was still just as deadpan, still concentrating. Then he lifted his hands, not much, just an inch above the skin. What…?

"No," the Elder's voice, little more than a whisper, cut through the silence. Unknown spun around and was about to ask what was wrong, but then the Elder's eyes grew wide and his voice rose to a shout. _"Takeshi get away from th — "_

He was too late.

Unknown saw a bright flash from somewhere behind him and looked back, again too late.

XXXXXXXXX

There were some downsides to transferring magic into mortals, and one of them was that at first, it wasn't a permanent thing. They'd use it all up and their bodies usually weren't capable of regenerating it fast enough. So for the first seven or eight years with the Nightmare Children, Pitch would occasionally slip into their food small amounts of the magic to keep them going as they built up a stronger bond with it and grew into it, as you could say. By this point, after ten years of being literally spoon-fed magic, their bodies were used to it and could regenerate it by themselves. Still, it took a while and a lot of energy, and there usually wasn't a huge amount.

But Unknown…

Pitch was ready to swear that the boy had immortal blood in him somewhere, because the amount of power still left in him was _unbelievable. _It seemed to Pitch that over all these years, it had been regenerating automatically and so whenever he'd spoon-fed the kid more magic, the store inside of him just made another extra storeroom. Even more amazing was that Unknown seemed to have been able to grasp the flow of magic entirely, covering up Pitch's metaphorical fingerprints with his own. This was _Unknown's _brand of magic now. It had been molded from Pitch's, yes, but it was still…different.

Kinda a pity that the kid was dead. He would have made a great ally with that much power. Pitch had seen some of what he could do in their duel, and couldn't help but think if the kid had known how to use this stuff properly then he might not be dead now.

But he was dead anyway, which in a way was good because there was now no one left to stop Pitch from taking the power back and making himself the young Boogeyman he used to be.

Inside, he smiled as he thought of everything he could do now. He could bring the Guardians — and his rebellious children — to their knees. Finally, the Twelfth Nightmare Child could do him some good.

He lifted his hands, whispered the words, and reached for the power.

XXXXXXXXX

Unknown stumbled back into the wall again seemingly without his own will, as his spectral body didn't seem to want to do what he wanted it to any more than his real body did. He didn't feel any pain, but for some reason he felt like he should have. It really was weird not having a body.

He squeezed his eyes shut without even knowing why, taking a deep, shuddering (and unnecessary) breath. He heard a rushing noise like a really powerful vacuum cleaner, then pouring sand, then the Elder saying a very bad word in the same way that you might normally say "okay".

And then all was silent.

He cracked open his eyes, then rubbed them in disbelief before looking again. Pitch stood in the center of the cell, silver-streaked nightmare sand whirling around him. Unknown had seen Pitch use nightmare sand before, but never like this. The Nightmare King looked younger, more powerful, and extremely dangerous.

"Yes," he cackled, reaching out to some of the silver sand. It hesitated and avoided his hand at first, but then it began to change. The black wove deeper and darker into the silver until there was none of the light left — only darkness. "Yes, yes, YES!"

"No," Unknown could only whisper.

The Elder said the bad word again. Then he took a sharp breath in. "Takeshi, you might want to look at yourself…"

Look at himself? Confused, Unknown looked down at his feet, then at his hands. He didn't see anything particularly strange; he still looked as ghostly and dead as ever. He was about to raise his head and tell the Elder there wasn't anything wrong, but then he saw something. His hair was just long enough for him to see the tips when the untamable dark brown locks fell across his eyes.

_Dark brown?_

Slowly, almost as if he was dreading what he would see, Unknown turned his eyes from himself to his body. But even though he didn't want to see it, he somehow wasn't surprised to watch his silver hair, just like the silver sand, be overtaken by dark. Ash white skin slowly darkened to olive.

He couldn't even move as he watched the façade of Unknown Black disappear, leaving behind only the lifeless shell of a fourteen-year-old mortal.

_I'm Takeshi again,_ the boy realized_. I'm dead, but at least I'm myself._

As Pitch Black continued to laugh and put out the last of the silver lights, Takeshi Itou stepped back to Death, sat down on the floor, and closed his brown eyes.

XXXXXXXXX

Back at the Pole, the younger Death's eyes bulged from a nasty premonition only he felt and, without warning, he sprang up and raced down the hall. Pain, North, and Jack were talking about something that looked pretty serious, but the teenager paid no mind and pushed past them.

He skidded to a stop in front of a certain open door and stared. Inside, Tooth was seated cross-legged on a cushioned stool with a Mini-fairy perched on her shoulder. Her back was towards him and Death assumed she hadn't seen him, but then she said, "If you want your memories, let me remind you that Pitch still has them. Even if I did have them, I'm not letting anyone have anything until everyone's here."

He started to shake his head, but then remembered that she wasn't looking at him and stopped.

"No, your majesty," Death said, his voice low. "I want to know if my brother is safe."

She said nothing. Even her Mini-fairy stayed silent and still.

Slowly Death stepped into the room. Thankfully, the polished mahoghany floors didn't squeak under his weight — over the years he'd taken pride in being able to move without being heard; it was fun freaking out his siblings by appearing behind or next to them without them hearing anything. But that was easy because those were stone floors. Wood was a bit different.

Not that he was trying to scare Tooth now. Death may always get the final word, but anyone who could survive Pain's attacks was a warrior to be respected. Even as he got closer, her Mini-fairy suddenly turned and glared at him. Sharply she signed the universal "I've got my eyes on you" sign, then drew her finger across her throat.

The message was unmistakable. Death stayed a good pace away from Tooth, if only to appease the fairy.

When Death looked at Tooth's face, he realized that she wasn't looking at the moon like he'd thought. Her eyes were closed and her hands resting palm up on her knees, like she was meditating. She was perfectly, uncannily still — deathly still, in fact. She was breathing, but it was so shallowly that it was barely visible as movement, and probably just out of instinct. You could almost look at her flawless, pale face and call it the face of a statue. It was perfectly shaped, so hard and aloof and marble-cold. Moonlight draped her feathers in a pearly sheen and underlined them with shadows like ink strokes. Her gauzy, gold-trimmed wings reminded him of stained glass.

_A masterpiece,_ he remarked to himself, but he didn't say it aloud lest she carve out his insides with the twin swords resting three feet away.

"Tell me what they find," he said instead.

For a long while she was silent. Death was keenly aware of the sound of his own breathing, and of their fourteen spectators in the doorway. Loudest of all was Danger's dropped F-bomb as she tried to get a better view of the drama and Wrath stepped on her foot (purposely or on accident, we still do not know).

Finally Tooth's eyes fluttered open, revealing those haunting, hypnotizing orbs. She met his gaze and he couldn't help but wonder what color her eyes really were — sometimes they were just purple, other times lavender and even pink. Tonight they were fresh violets, darker, with a tinge of blue.

"Did you love him?" she asked finally.

He was taken aback by this question, but he didn't show it. Instead he glanced at his siblings in the doorway, then the Guardians, then back to Tooth and her fairy. Each pair of eyes challenged him. He looked away and at the moon. Even that seemed to look back.

Love.

He closed his eyes.

"I am Death, your majesty. I do not acknowledge love."

Again Tooth was quiet. They both felt it was meant to be a conversation ender, but at the same time they were sure it wouldn't be that easy. Death heard Tooth's fairy chirp once, but her voice said nothing. Until:

"Niccolò Moretti."

Something echoed. His eyelids flew open and Death felt himself take a sharp, involuntary breath in. "What did you say?"

Tooth didn't look away. Their eyes locked and neither blinked, each testing the other. Waiting.

Then she just shrugged and turned back to the moon, letting its light touch her face before she closed her eyes again.

"That's your name. Niccolò Moretti. Even if you don't like it, that's your name. You can call yourself what you will, but at the end of it all?"

A smirk touched her perfect, ruby lips.

"I only know one Death, and you're not him."

* * *

><p><strong>Little off-topic short story to make you smilewonder because idk how to end this chapter anyway:**

**A while ago me and my friend were fooling around with her Sims once at her house and her Sims had just sat down to eat when one of her elders died and the Grim Reaper came and did his business, but get this. After that, the poor old lady's meal was still sitting there on the table and while we were all mourning Death literally just sat down in the old lady's empty chair, ate the food, took the stuff to the sink and left.**

**FOR MY DEATH'S EMBRACE FOLLOWERS YES THIS THE SAME GIRL WHO MANAGED TO FLIRT WITH DEATH LAST TIME oh by the way the baby was born, a healthy happy kinda creepy baby boy with lovely black skin and bright blue eyes, he's doing fine in fact he's grown up and has a job and just got a girlfriend idk how oh yes his mother's fine, getting on in years though fine BUT POINT BEING MY FRIEND HAS SOME ISSUES WITH DEATH**

**Anyway.  
><strong>

**It'd be great to know how I'm doing without Mystic to help me but whatever.**


	19. Dead

***throws my useless body into the sun* _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_**

***breathes in***

**yo i used some of ur reviews but hopefully i asked you first so here you go, in the midst of school**

***breathes out***

***breathes in***

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_**

* * *

><p><em>Bellon.<em>

Bellon sighed. Bava was sitting on the floor of their little jar, her arms folded and eyes closed. She'd hoped that she was asleep, but alas, it was too good to be true. _What?_

_I'm bored, _Bava drawled, her eyes still closed._ Entertain me._

Bellon flopped down on the other side of the jar and glared at her sister. _With what?_

_I don't know. A game or something._

Bellon relaxed. Well, at least she wasn't asking for Bellon to comb her feathers for assorted debris again. Seriously, she wondered how Bava had access to half the things that got stuck in her feathers. _Oh, all right, _she relented. _What kind of game?_

_I don't know. A fun game._

That didn't narrow it down much. Different people had different standards and definitions of "fun" and Bava could most definitely be counted as a "different person". She tried something that everyone knew. _Twenty Questions, maybe?_

Bava yawned. _Meh._

Bellon sighed again and took it as a no. _What about Truth or Dare? You love Truth or Dare, don't you?_

_Meh._

Okay, something else then. _Concentration?_

_Meh._

_Thumb war?_

_Meh._

_Would You Rather?_

_Would I rather what?_

Bellon facepalmed. _Forget it. How about…what about Lemonade Crunchy Ice?_

_Hand games are boring._

She understood. Tooth fairies didn't have very big hands anyway. _Well…what about mind games?_

_Meh._

She tried again, more desperately this time. _Word games?_

_Meh._

Now she was just irritated. _The quiet game?_

Bava threw her hands up into the air and fell forward onto her face, splaying her limbs outward. _You're SO FREAKING BORING, Bellon._

That was it. _Well, what do you want me to do? _she snapped. _Pull an Xbox out of my armpit feathers?_

Bava looked at her, completely straight faced, and nodded enthusiastically. _That would be awesome! Thanks!_

Bellon promptly turned around, did a few headwalls, and slumped down on the ground. _You. Are. Hopeless._

_LOL. _Did she really just say "LOL"? _So I've heard._

They sat in silence — Bellon slumped down on the ground against the glass wall, Bava lying on her stomach — until the latter of the two perked up her head.

_Hey, _she smiled, _I've got an idea._

_Oh dear._

_No, I'm serious. It's a good idea. So…you know ships?_

If Bellon had had eyebrows, they would have flown right up. _Ships? Oh yeah, why?_

Bava grinned evilly and rubbed her hands together. _I'm just trying to think up some of my own. You know, like names for them and all, and how they'd work. Can you?_

Bellon pondered this, then she replied, _Well, first, you need to look at other ships, and try to make your own up based off those._

_Great idea! How many do you know?_

_Dozens! I love ships. Let's see…the RMS Titanic. The Mayflower. The Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. The Lusitania…_

Bava facepalmed. Her sister could be such a ditz sometimes. _Not THOSE kind of ships! Jeez, Bellon, haven't you ever used the Internet? You know, on Tumblr, DeviantArt, FanFiction…come on. Everlark, Romione, Percabeth, KAREZI FOR MANNY'S SAKE PLEASE TELL ME YOU HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT KAREZI! SHIP names. RELATIONSHIP names. Pairings?!_

_Oh! _Bellon blushed. _Yes. Of course. What kind of pairings?_

_Like real life pairings. In our world._

_Oh, cool! What were you thinking?_

_Like for Jack and Tempest. Heh. You know, the ship sailed by teenage hormones that nobody likes, even the author._

_Hehe. Yeah, like she's such a Mary Sue._

_Oh my Moon, you have no idea. Like I swear. I mean, at least it's not like the author outright proclaimed it to be "twoo wuv" or whatever, like you'd think that she'd at least save that crap for that one parody fic?  
><em>

_Yeah…so, any ideas?_

_I dunno…I was thinking…Snowstorm._

_Aha, nice! I love it!_

_And then maybe Poisoned Chocolate or something for Bunny and Danger._

_I find their ship just plain weird, truth to be told…_

_Eh, don't we all. Anywho…_ she drummed her fingers together and held them up to her lips. _How about our OTP?_

Bellon frowned._ Our what?_

_OTP. One True Pairing. You know…Mother…_

_Oh! Hehe. Yeah. That one. I'm…not really good at making up shipping names._

_Considering that you just figured out what they were five seconds ago._

_ …__Yeah…_

_Eh, no big deal. You know, I thought of Silverwing for them, but I'm not sure._

_I like it. It's cute!_

_No Bellon, THEY'RE cute._

_Heh, yeah, I guess._

_More like in a moirallegiance truth to be told, but whatever, you know? Ships still ships._

_I…don't know what that means…_

_Of course you don't. So, any more? Like ideas?_

_Mmm…well, don't you have to like think of each of their elements?_

_That's it! You're getting the hang of it! Why, were you thinking of anything in particular?_

_ …__Invisalign._

_ …_

_ …_

_ …__WHAT._

_You know. Those invisible braces everyone wants to get nowadays._

_ …_

_Bava?_

_ …_

_ …_

_ …__Heh. That's actually pretty good._

_Well, I dunno, I just thought, well, teeth, invisibility, braces, Invisalign…even though they're not half as good as regular braces, they ARE kinda invisible, but still they don't do as good of a job._

_Are you trying to say anything, Bellon?_

_Uh, yeah, that regular braces rock! Not saying anything about Unknown though, he's totally fine._

_Thought so. But yeah, you're right…I mean, I can see why someone wouldn't want to see their braces 24/7._

_But really, if you're going for looks right now versus oral health forever, I'd really go with the latter._

_Exactly!_

_And, I mean, if you're going to get braces, might as well show 'em off. Put pretty colors on them or something, I dunno._

_Yeah._

They fell silent, both of them busy reflecting upon teeth and braces. It took a while for Bava to remember what they'd originally been talking about, but when she did she jumped right on.

_Okay, so onto crackships._

_What are those?_

_Ships that will not set sail if we're still alive to fight them. Like…I dunno…see, you don't understand the twisted minds of shippers these days. They're shipping Harry and Dobby, for Manny's sake!_

_That's…just plain weird…how about we not go there?_

_Yeah, I like that plan. I'm not even going to begin with some of the twisted ships that people, namely the authoresses, might invent with TWELVE new OCs to this fanfic…_

**("Not that I would," interjected DarkHorseBlueSky. "I'm not that twisted. At least I refrained from shipping****_ North_**** with anyone."**

**Mystichawk snorted. "Honestly," she said, "North is better off not shipped with anyone younger than him."**

**The two tooth fairies and the authoress with the longer name shivered at the nasty thought that crossed their minds and we will not divulge in order to spare the innocence of younger readers, then looked back at the last few lines that she wrote and frowned.**

** "****Well," she sighed, "there goes the fourth wall."**

** "****Dark," said Mystichawk, sounding like she was just barely containing her irritation with the younger girl, "just shut up and let the characters do their thing already, okay?"**

** "****Okay…" Dark — not the Dark of the Nightmare Child variety — replied sullenly, and promptly shut up.)**

Bellon frowned. _We're a fanfic?_

_Yeah, _Bava said.

There was a silence.

_This is called breaking the fourth wall, _Bava winked.

_Oh…_

_Ahem? _said a new voice. No, it wasn't Dark or Mystic. Jeez, guys.

Both of the fairies snapped up. _Mother? Mother, is that you? _they called, more out of hope than anything. Pitch hadn't returned for them yet but, truth to be told, they were terrified what he might do to them if he came before Tooth could get them out.

_Yes, _Tooth's voice came again. _It's me. I'm safe now, at the Pole. I've got the teeth and…most of the Nightmare Children are here, but we're missing one._

Bava and Bellon felt the same terror pierce their hearts. _Please don't tell me…_ Bava whispered with wide eyes.

_I'm afraid I have to, _replied Mother. _Takeshi…sacrificed himself so I'd be safe, and now…now he's dead._

XXXXXXXXX

Tooth hadn't been quite prepared for the stunned silence, then the screams.

Both she and Bri, perched on her shoulder, winced at the sudden onslaught of screams after she'd broken the news to them. _WHAT?! _Bava was the first to say. _No, Mom, I won't believe it! OH MY GODS UNKNOWN OH MY GODS OASDFAJSLDFHLAKSHDBFALJSDHFALKSDFNALSKDHFASDLKFASLKDHFASDFS I…think I'm currently in shock…NEVERMIND! I HATE PITCH! PITCH YOU FREAKING MONSTER, YOU'VE BROKEN ANY REMENANTS OF MY SHATTERED HEART! GAAAAAAAAAAAAH! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! HOW COULD YOOUUUUUOUOU! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! No no no no no no no —_

_ "__GIRLS!" _Tooth yelled. _"Get it together!"_

Beside her, Death visibly jumped. When she glanced over to him and realized that she'd said it aloud, she felt herself blush. To her surprise, she wasn't the only one. The teenager coughed and looked away, but not fast enough that she didn't see the pink tint creeping up his cheeks.

Death…_blushing? _Around _her?_

The whole world was going mad.

Tooth shook her head, then turned back to her girls. She could hear and see them sniffling in their glass prison, their huge eyes wet with tears. Oh Moon, she hated to break the news to them like this, but the deed was already done. And they had to find out somehow. They'd have to, to be able to put their plan into action.

_P…plan? _Bellon sniffled at the thought, and looked up hopefully.

Her mother nodded. _Yes. I had to tell you, so we'd be able to start on our plan. Takeshi may be gone, but…we can bring him back, right?_

The soaring hope and joy she felt from the two fairies, just then, was enough to make Tooth feel young again.

_Now that you're both calm, I want you two to try to get out of the jar. Just glide through like you always do; it's not hard —_

_Think again, Mother. _That was Bava, of course. _Pitch must've made this thing especially for us. There's nightmare sand in it, and it HURTS._

_I know, but you just have to try. Hold hands, channel all your power in, and try again. If worse comes to worst, I'll have to regroup._

"Regrouping" was Tooth's term for calling all her fairies, which were technically smaller entities of her, back to their original source, which was her. It could get Bava and Bellon out of the jar, but the aftermath might be a little bit unpleasant. Even when her fairies had been captured, Tooth hadn't felt a need to regroup in centuries and as a result, her fairies had grown more independent of her, taking on single aspects of their mother's personality and establishing entire personalities of their own.

If she regrouped now, Bava and Bellon might forget their own names, get transferred into different bodies, or even switch personalities entirely with other fairies. And it was never fun for Tooth, either; if she regrouped too fast and while her fairies were too spread apart, it could give her migraines for days and she might not be totally on top of things, both mentally and teeth-collecting-wise. And it often depended on her own state, too. Eleven years ago, when Pitch had kidnapped her fairies, she hadn't been able to regroup because of the loss of believers. Though a bit tired, Tooth was fine now and regrouping would be tiring but not impossible.

Bava and Bellon knew this, and seemed to panic at the mere mention of the action. _No! Not regrouping!_

Tooth managed a wry smile. _I thought so. Now, figure out a way to work together and push through, or I'll have to…you know._

They didn't need to be told twice.

XXXXXXXXX

"Hey kid…you okay?"

Unknown lifted his ghostly head and opened his eyes. The voice hadn't been from the Elder. He hadn't said much, or anything at all for that matter, after Pitch had left in his swirl of shadows.

So Unknown had resigned himself to the floor, where he sat hugging his knees and looking at the insides of his eyelids which, somehow, were still opaque. Once again he felt like he was probably feeling pain right now, but his spectral form just didn't register it. He had a feeling that the pain was like a headache and heartburn combined. Ouch.

The dim, greyish light filtering through cracks in the ceiling hit his eyes and he blinked, unsure of what he was seeing above him. It was pale, shimmering, blurry, translucent like a wall of mist. Except that it wasn't just an empty cloud; this was a human-shaped mass of a ghost. Even as he looked at it, the mass seemed to darken and solidify as it bent down to its knees before him. White curtains of mist, its long hair, spilled over and around its round, soft feminine face. The curtains floated in an unfelt breeze.

He'd never seen her face until now as he'd never been directly into this spectrum until now, but her identity was unmistakable. The smooth flaxen hair, the spectral dress and cape that trailed behind and underneath her as she floated on thin air, the low harmonious voice that had always reminded him of that one 10's singer that Shame really liked, Adele wasn't it?

"Red?" he whispered, almost unsure of who the ghost was.

But she was here, she was real and she was with him, instead of being the intangible whisper she had always been to him. He'd been alive before, but now he was just like her.

A smile twitched at the edges of her full lips as color began to trickle into them, cherry red like her nickname. It was chilling how real she seemed to him now, almost like he could reach out and touch her. Maybe he could, but he wasn't the type to invade anyone's privacy like that. Physical contact made him feel uncomfortable, like if he even brushed their skin then he would hurt him or they wouldn't like it. Even though she was dead he didn't want to risk it.

"Hey, kid," Red eased herself onto the ground, somehow not getting tangled in her royal robes, and then smiled at him warmly. Her eyes were completely white, but bright as twin suns. "We all knew this day was coming, didn't we? You aren't the high-and-mighty 'lord of ghosts' anymore, are you?"

He couldn't help but smile a little bit at the jab and out of habit, he looked to the ground. "I guess, yeah."

Next to them, the Elder coughed. Both ghosts looked up to him, but he just looked back innocently.

"What?" he asked. "Is there something on my face?"

Red nodded, completely deadpan. "Oh, yes. It's…it's all over the place. Yeesh, get a napkin. Or maybe a bath towel."

"What?" the Elder said again, resisting the temptation to reach up and touch his face. He didn't believe her, but…still. It never hurt to make sure.

"…A huge glob of drop-dead ugly. Oh wait, I forgot. You can't get rid of that no matter what persona you're in."

The Elder did not look amused. His dark eyes narrowed into slits. "I hate you."

"I hate you too," she replied.

"That's kind of offensive to me, you know," Unknown put in. "Like, that's _me _he's posing as. Or looks like. Or whatever."

The former queen shrugged. "Ugly on the inside."

The Elder folded his arms. "Oh? Why do you think that?"

"Eh. You're _Death."_

"I'll have you know that I hate my job almost as much as you hated yours — "

She let out a bark of laughter. "Wanna bet? Hey, at least _you _don't have a dress code."

He sniffed. "Oh please. Clothing is the last thing I'm worried about. What about the post-traumatic stress disorder brought on by guiding thousands, millions, _billions _of human souls to the conveyor belts to eternity? What about _living _all of their deaths alongside them, hmm? You wouldn't believe how many times I've nearly gone _mad — _"

Red was standing now, her hands on her hips. She and the Elder were the exact same height, which was five feet. "You say that like I don't know what pain is. Hah. You were there for their deaths — I was there for their _lives! _The suffering of thousands of peasants rested in my hands and yet I had not the power to relieve them! I had _no _power! I was a signature on a paper; a mute figurehead! I couldn't decide who would get food on their tables, I couldn't negotiate trade, I couldn't even defend my own kingdom without asking a man's help first — "

"A man's help? You mean mine? See, isn't that what they all say, that war is death's best friend? Well, I'm here to give you a different perspective on that — I'm _not. _If I'm being completely honest, I will say that I _despise _shoveling the messes you humans make. The normal loads are enough. Why can't you just _not kill more people than are already dying? _I have enough on my plate as it is!"

"Well, at least the world's not pressuring you to get bloody pregnant just to keep the monarchy going! Seriously, do you have _any _idea how _awkward _it is to hear '_Her Majesty's monthly bleeding hath not yet come for this turn of the moon! Could it be that an heir is born in three-quarter year's time?' _EVERY FREAKING WHERE YOU GO?! I'd trade that for soul-collecting in a heartbeat, given the chance — "

"Be careful for what you wish, darling. Think before you speak of such things."

"_I've had twelve hundred years to think about it! _Would _you_ like to sit in on entire royal conferences where the only thing your hubby's idiot advisors talk about is your lack of successfully making a baby with him — "

"Hmm, yes, I always wondered about that. Any other disrespectful young lady such as you seems to have no problem whatsoever getting herself loaded. Happens to nearly everyone nowadays —"

"_EDWARD WAS FREAKING STERILE FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE! _That's not MY fault! They just all thought it was! I couldn't have kids without breaking the vows, screwing that hot captain of the garrison or something — "

"Um, hey, young child over here," Unknown put in, trying to give a hint. In reality he'd been grimacing and trying to telepathically yell at Red and the Elder _PLEASE CAN WE STAY AWAY FROM ANY X-RATED DETAILS. THANK YOU._

It worked, as he saw when both Red and the Elder grimaced and looked awkwardly back and forth at each other. "Sorry…" they mumbled in unison.

"Her fault," the Elder added under his breath, though she still heard it.

She glared at him. "Oh, shut up."

"You're cute when you try to give me death glares," he said.

"Thanks, but shut up."

"You're most welcome." He gave her an infuriating, totally-not-Unknown smile. Sure, they might've looked alike in face and height, and Unknown might've been a mortal now, but that didn't make the Elder any less annoying. After so many years she could look past the reflections and see Death for who he really was — even past that annoying "first form" he used only around her: slender athletic figure, healthy tan complexion, slight shy smile, captivating ancient dark eyes that just seemed to ensnare her soul and not let go…

Wait, _what?!_

Obviously both boys noticed the grimace on her face because neither would stop looking at her. For a second she saw what Unknown saw — a reflection of himself, the same huge innocent dark eyes, the feathers of brown hair. He still had a single feather left of silver, she could see. It was small and barely noticeable, under his ear, but as soon as she saw it peeking out at her she couldn't _not _see it. It was kinda cute and she wanted to play with it for some reason.

"You okay?" Unknown asked, the most childlike concern in his eyes. It made her want to reach down and hug him, but she didn't.

"I'm fine, kid." She glanced over her shoulder, to where she could clearly see the other guys lurking in the corner and playing cards again. Seriously? They were playing _poker _while the only living kid who acknowledged their presence was turning into one of them? Ugh, seriously, she didn't know _any _good men anymore.

She rolled her eyes, then turned back to the kid. "It's you we should be worried about. You staying with us, or moving on?"

He shrugged and glanced up at the Elder as if he'd give an answer. But he didn't, he just smiled and closed his eyes.

Red knew what that meant, even if Unknown didn't. Her eyebrows flew straight up. "Oh."

"What?" the boy asked.

_"__Oh," _she said again as if she hadn't even heard him, glancing at the Elder. He nodded.

" 'Oh' is right," he said.

Unknown was still confused. "No, really. What?"

The ghost never answered.

XXXXXXXXX

The statistics:

It took fifteen minutes.

Bava and Bellon bonked their heads a total of fifteen times.

Bellon learned forty-two new cuss words, in various languages, from Bava.

_Bellon, _Mother's voice said to them over the telepathic link, _remind me to clean your sister's mouth out with soap when this whole deal is over with, won't you?_

_IF YOU DON'T MIND, _Bava said very irritably, _I AM TRYING TO GET THROUGH A GLASS WALL HERE AND AM HURTING VERY MUCH IN MY NOGGIN._

Bellon and Tooth were both silent. Bava's previous statement had contained more cuss words than necessary words before I so kindly censored it for younger readers. Then Bellon remarked, _Or maybe some heavy-duty disinfectants. What do you think, Mother?_

Tooth couldn't help but giggle. _Okay, that one was pretty good._

She closed her eyes and reached out to her fairies. Since they were literally parts of her, she could to some extent see exactly what they saw as they saw it through their own eyes. This is what she did now, and a blurred image of what they saw appeared in her mind's eye. She saw the walls of the jar, and Pitch's room beyond. _Come on, girls, _she encouraged. _You can do it. Just remember how easily you usually do._

She saw Bava rush forward, then saw her meet some very solid resistance and heard her drop the F-bomb in Italian.

"Oh dear," Tooth winced, rubbing her temples.

She returned to the mental link. _All right, _she said. _Come on, you can do it. Just believe._

Bellon fluttered backwards as far as she could, got a flying start, and believed. She glided right through the glass as if it wasn't there. _Hey! It worked!_

Tooth smiled weakly. _I told you._

_Hey! What gives? _Bava inquired indignantly. She rushed at the glass again, but it didn't work as easily as it had for Bellon and the potty-mouthed tooth fairy fell to the floor of her prison once again.

_Bava, _Tooth said, _just hold on. You're going to hurt yourself. Bellon, open the jar from the top._

With some difficulty, Bellon wrapped her fingers around the jar lid and managed to pry it off. Bava popped out, still a bit disoriented as she spiraled out of the jar.

_FREEDOM! _she yelled.

It was enough to bring another smile to Tooth's face. That was Bava for you. _Not quite yet, _she told them. _You still have to get the teeth and get out of the room. Just wait a few seconds; your sisters are on their way._

Tooth then diverted her attention to her a different mental link. The fairy scout was hovering near the ceiling in the corridor outside Pitch's bedroom and looking very nervous, but brave.

_Kyr, _Tooth said to the scout. _All clear?_

The fairy acted a bit surprised to hear her mother's voice all of a sudden, but she regained composure fast. _All clear, mother._

_Good. Alpha Squad, permission to proceed. Bava, Bellon, permission to exit. Bravo, Charlie, Delta Squads, keep your eyes open. _Tooth reflected that she was liking this military talk stuff.

She returned her focus back to her fairies. At the end of the hallway, a mass of about forty fairies appeared in an iridescent ribbon of green and blue, fluttering near the ceiling and weaving between the stalactites. One of them was carrying an ugly grey Wal-mart bag like a parachute behind her, kind of ruining the beauty of it, but since this was a mission and not a beauty pageant, Tooth didn't really care. They made their way to their sister Kyr by the door, then, as one, attacked the doorknob.

One of them inserted her beak into the keyhole, twisted it around, and managed to unlock it (but how, now that's a complete mystery to everyone except Tooth and the fairies). Fairies surrounded the handle and gripped it best they could, and with all their strength they turned it. A few others pushed against the door, and it swung open on its hinges.

_Great job! _Tooth put in. _Help Bava and Bellon, get the teeth, then regroup with Bravo._ She diverted her attention to said Bravo Squad now, a group of another forty fairies streaming down a nearby hallway towards Alpha.

She turned to the leader of Delta Squad. Her mind's eye was instantly filled with what the fairy saw, which was (predictably) another dark and shadowy corridor. Delta and Charlie Squads were different from Alpha and Bravo. Alpha was meant to rescue the captive fairies and the teeth boxes and Bravo was meant to defend the rescuers, but Charlie and Delta were meant to find Unknown. Tooth had no idea how or where he was and that was what they were for — there were twice as many fairies in Charlie and Delta as Alpha and Bravo combined, and all of these fairies were spread out throughout the seemingly endless lair, searching. It was a risky game, as Pitch and his Nightmares could be anywhere, but she knew for a fact that none of her fairies were afraid and so Pitch wouldn't be able to sense them.

_Delta Commander, Dayita, come in, _she called.

_Yes mother? _Dayita replied instantly. Her buddy, Sari — the fairies used the buddy system in case one was caught — stopped with her and kept watch.

_Have you found anything yet? _Tooth asked, knowing that they probably hadn't. If they'd found him, they would have instantly sent out a mental flare and everyone would have known in the space of a heartbeat.

Dayita's face fell. _No, Mother. I'm sorry. We're sensing faint traces from his tooth box, which he probably has with him, but it seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. We can't get an exact pinpoint on his location._

_It's the fear, _Tooth realized with a chilling sensation down her spine. _Dayita, it's just the fear. This is Pitch's stronghold we're talking about. It'll twist things and make it hard to get around this maze. That's how Jack and Baby Tooth got so lost down here that one time. You just have to push away the fear and just follow your instincts._

The little fairy looked doubtful, but she nodded. _Yes mother. We'll do our best._

Tooth realized just then that she was sitting on the edge of her seat and, still stiff, she eased herself backwards and sat straight again. A furtive glance sideways and input from Bri told her that Death was still watching her.

"You know, Death," she remarked, mostly just to annoy him, "eavesdropping isn't nice."

They locked gazes, and she almost shivered at the self-amused smirk on his face. "And teaching children to sell body parts is?"

Tooth instantly felt the blood rush to her cheeks and she was sure that if she had eyebrows, which she didn't, they would have flown straight up. "I do NOT! And — I have good reasons — "

A wry smile pecked at the corners of Death's lips. "So do I."

She didn't want to know what he meant and she told him so, to which he just smirked again and said "Gods, I've always wanted to tell you that." She didn't like the sound of that either. Sure, these kids were all pretty creepy, but Death held an entirely new level of creepiness on his own. He reminded her of Pitch in the strangest way, except…different, somehow. More nonchalant. And he had much better teeth — white, sharp, and cavity-free, unlike Pitch's. Somehow, it made him seem more mature.

_And he's only seventeen, _she said to herself. The thought amused her somehow.

Tooth sat back down in her chair as she began to register a buzz from her fairies, a rippling wave of words being passed from each linked mind to the next. The buzz grew into a roar, almost until she couldn't think straight. _What's going on? _she demanded. _Girls! Get it together!_

The squeals of two hundred forty mini-fairies began to fade back down to the more subdued buzz. Then, above the noise, Dayita spoke in a shaky voice: _We've — we've found him, Mother! We've found him!_

Tooth wasted no time. Instantly she was in Dayita's mind, seeing things as the little fairy saw it. They were in the dungeons (again, she felt). Dozens of fairies flitted around her, clearly panicking. She was about to yell at them to stop being so afraid and that Pitch might hear them, but then she realized that it wasn't panic — it was sorrow.

With the greatest trepidation, she pushed through the crowd of fairies and looked into her own cell…

And then, she saw him, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

Dark hair, streaked with red. Scrapes and cuts littered his young face and all over his body like he'd been dragged across the rough stone floor, reminding her, in a horrible way, of his sister Suffering. He was very small, lying on the slab of rock that had been her bed with his hands limp at his side. Blood pooled on the rock from the gash on his back. His armor, his blood-stained sweatshirt and a torn trench coat had been cast aside, leaving him half-naked. She could count his ribs under his tight skin, pale as death but olive instead of ash. Something dark and nasty-looking spiderwebbed all underneath his chest. Tooth could bet her last penny that it was nightmare sand.

Just then two shrieks came up from the crowd, and Tooth and Dayita turned around just in time to see two very small and forceful projectiles knock them out of orbit. Namely, Bava and Bellon. Go figure.

Tooth quickly left Dayita's mind and moved to Bellon's. (Bava's mind was much too…random. Manny knows what she might've found in there.) The two fairies were pushing and shoving to get to the front of the crowd.. They kept yelling something about _"ships" _and _"saving Silverwing". _Tooth didn't know what all this ship business was about, nor what Silverwing was, but whatever it was, it made fairies do weird things.

She tried to call out to them or at least get them to _stop _shoving their sisters off their wings, but they apparently weren't in the mood to listen to voices in their heads. Somehow, though, they did manage to get to the front of the line, and the sight that met their eyes made them scream again.

They were the first to leave the group and zip towards Unknown, fluttering nervously around his head. Other fairies followed them and joined in their pleas, even tugging at locks of his brown hair when he failed to respond.

_He's human, Mother!_ Bava spun around, her eyes wide as golf balls. _Human AND dead! And — and what's that black stuff under his skin?! Oh Moon, oh Moon…is this a good thing, or is it a bad thing, or…_

She didn't know what to say. Her voice wouldn't work. She could only look at the dead boy in the prison cell and his dark brown hair and the black tendrils spreading from his heart. There was a small, short lock of silver still, just a tiny bunch of bright strands curling under his ear and for some reason, she wanted to touch it. Maybe just to keep her hold on the child that she knew before — not the lifeless mortal who lay here now.

Bri's tiny scream pulled her from her reverie and inadvertently she turned, suddenly realizing that there were two hands on her shoulders and a boy in front of her. Death was yelling her name, his eyes blazing with fear and golden fire.

And for whatever reason, she couldn't move.

XXXXXXXXX

When Tooth's fairies had first appeared in the dungeon halls, Unknown's first impulse had been to stand up and run towards them. They were like nothing he'd ever seen and yet everything to him, like a blind man opening his eyes for the first time. Just seeing the dim light off their feathers filled him with hope — but at the same time, fear. What were they doing here?

So, desperate for answers, he had followed his impulse and stood up.

The Grim Reaper and a very certain female ghost had resumed their argument while he had been sitting silently in the corner, and the other ghosts in the furthest corner were betting on who would come out alive if things got physical. Somehow, in his daze, Unknown didn't notice that they all fell silent the second he stood up.

"Tooth?" he called to the mass of fairies, choking on the lump in his throat. "Bava? Bellon? I — "

And he ran, more reflexively than anything, towards the stream of Mini-Fairies as they flew towards him and didn't stop.

They didn't stop…

First he felt himself flying sideways, then he registered the fact that someone had actually barreled right into him. He hit the ground for the umpteenth time that day, someone's arms wrapped around his body. A woman's — perpetually thin from the sickness that had taken her life, soft from a childhood spent in luxury, and at the same time somehow hard from an adulthood and a death of fighting for control.

"Red?" he only managed to ask, confused, before the ghost effortlessly shoved him onto his back, dragged him across the floor and back to the wall where he'd been sitting before, and pinned his arms down. Past the whirling spectral fabric of her dress and her loose hair, he only managed a glimpse of her wild face before it was two inches from his. Her eyes were alight like he'd never seen before. To be frank, it frightened him.

"What the devil do you think you were _doing?!" _she shrieked, pressing her fingers like claws into his shoulders.

"I — " was all he managed to force out. Behind her, the tooth fairies were doing what tooth fairies do — panicking and talking incessantly. They hadn't even noticed him, almost like…like he didn't even exist. "I don't understand — "

"Well of _course _not, idiot!" Red rolled her eyes, the sarcasm in the glare thick and cold as Antarctic snow. "That's all it seems you can do nowadays — _not _understand!"

Then the Elder spoke. And when he did, it was just as Red caught herself and seemed to realize what she'd actually said. His voice resonated with power in such a way that even _she _couldn't ignore it — Death the Elder was Takeshi, he was Red, he was every soul that had passed through his arms. It was only for a second and they couldn't quite understand it, but for that moment when the power leaked in through the syllables Unknown and Red saw the world. And it just happened to be Red's first two names.

_"__Mary Elizabeth!" _the Elder snapped, at her side in the blink of an eye.

The voice couldn't be disobeyed. Not with that much hidden wrath behind it. Looking somewhat embarrassed, Red took her hands off Unknown and retreated. "I…" Her voice cracked. "Sorry. I just…overreacted. I'm really sorry, kid." And without warning, she crushed him in a hug before backing away ashamed, and he could tell she really meant it.

"Oh, you think?" Death rolled his eyes and knelt beside the thoroughly confused young ghost, who couldn't decide who to look at — Red, the Elder, or Tooth's fairies behind them both.

The Elder's hard expression softened and he inhaled uncomfortably.

"What Red was trying to tell you," he said quietly, "was that you're not…how do you say…on the same 'level' as humans, even spirits, anymore. I figured you knew already, but…"

The truth began to trickle back to where it belonged and Unknown felt himself wanting to fall into the floor again. He didn't deny it — it made sense. He should've known. He knew he was separate from mortals, but for whatever reason it hadn't sunk in to him that no spirit could see him — Pitch couldn't, and of course Tooth wouldn't either. It felt really obvious to him now and he couldn't believe he'd forgotten.

Red coughed awkwardly. "I'm…I'm really sorry, how I grabbed you and all…but…"

She trailed off and let the Elder finish it.

"It was best you remember your place this way, rather than to have them pass right through you. I've…" He swallowed. "Most regular ghosts like you don't have enough time for this to ever happen to them, but I've known spirits who feel that for the first time without explanation, and to them it's enough to hurl themselves right back at me."

The Elder's voice was now barely audible over the shrieks of the tooth fairies. They were now tugging at Unknown's hair and it hurt him so much to see them so scared and sad, almost enough to make him want to reverse his choice.

But not quite.

Unknown tore his eyes from the fairies and turned back to the Elder, who was looking up at the shaft of lights dripping through the ceiling cracks. Somehow he knew that the Reaper was still listening.

"Can you," he only managed before his own voice betrayed him and he had to stop.

Unknown swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked hard. He wouldn't cry, not again. His death was inevitable, he'd known that from the start. Pitying himself wasn't going to make anything better. So long as Tooth was safe, and the fairies got out from here in time, everything could turn out okay.

"Can you tell them to go?" he asked.

The Elder was quiet for a very long time. In that time, Red didn't move once. Her eyes were wide and when she looked back at Unknown, apologetic. But she didn't say anything either.

"Be patient," was all the Elder said, exactly three seconds before the shadows spat out three Nightmare Children.

XXXXXXXXX

Tooth was, by nature, a fighter. Her instincts, when Death's hands locked on her, were to not fly up or away, but down. She could whip underneath him, maybe land a nice hard blow into his midsection while she was at it, but she didn't have the time. She only managed to let out a gasp of surprise before Death was yanked back by two strong paws.

He inadvertently pulled her forward and she lost her balance, falling off the chair and onto the ground. When she found her wings and she righted herself again, she saw the boy under North's sword, his hands pinned behind his back by Bunny. Fear touched his usually indifferent face, though as Jack raised his staff and pointed it at his chest he covered the fear up with a scowl.

Bunny's teeth clenched together as he felt Death's muscles tense. "Don't you _dare _touch Tooth _ever again, _you little — "

_STOP! _Sandy didn't even have to write it to make it clear. He waved his arms, flashed an octagon above his head, and held up a hand into Bunny's face. For once, they actually noticed the little dreammaker at his first try and froze.

His chubby round face was set into a scowl as he looked back and forth from Tooth, to Death, to Bunny, to North, and finally Jack. It was interesting, Tooth mused momentarily, how these kind of arguments always involved all of the Guardians and yet only one Nightmare Child. She glanced back at the others, who were snickering and whispering stuff about their brother never having luck with the ladies and actually getting what he deserved there.

_Just like siblings, huh? _she exchanged glances with Bri, who just shrugged.

Pointing at Death, Sandy then pointed at the ground and glared at the other male Guardians. They hesitated, doubtful, but then begrudgingly they obeyed. Bunny let go of the boy so sharply that he nearly tripped and fell over his own feet.

"Lemme repeat myself. Don't _ever _touch Tooth again," Bunny hissed into the teenager's ear. The glare Death sent back was hard enough to crack mirrors.

"She wasn't responding," he muttered, sticking his hands into his pockets.

"Well, that doesn't give you any excuse to shake her like that!" Jack exploded.

That was it. Tooth had a voice too, jeez. "Jack! Bunny!" She cut in, clenching her fists. She couldn't say she admired the other Guardians for trying to protect her, but honestly, she could take care of herself. If Death had been meaning to harm her, she knew about ten different ways she could put him onto the ground from just that one position. And anyway, he _did _have a point. She'd spaced out on a mission again. Maybe she did need a bit of shaking now and then.

All five boys — Death and the other Guardians — looked at her, and she took a deep breath. _Wow. _They'd gotten off topic really fast.

"I need you all," she told them, "to _calm down. _I'm fine. In fact I think I might've needed that. But I just need you all to take some nice deep breaths, stop fighting with each other and relax. We're kinda on a tight schedule here."

She closed her eyes and took a peek back to her cell in Pitch's lair. The fairies were still, as she expected, panicking.

"We've found him, but there's something…something very…wrong. I'm not sure what it is, but — "

"Wait wait wait," Danger piped up from the background. "But he's dead. What's there to be _wrong?"_

"Danger," Solitude chastised in a low voice, but as usual she ignored him.

"I don't _know!" _Exhausted, Tooth let out a long shaky breath and rubbed her temples. "He's…well, you know how you all used to be human?"

The silence in the room was so deep they could hear Jack's ice crackling as it spread around his feet.

She sighed again. "Well, you guys didn't always look like you do now." She looked at Tempest, who scowled back. "Tempest, you were a blonde." The scowl vanished in place of disbelief. Tooth searched for another face. "Dark, you were a redhead, with the brightest blue eyes you'd ever find." The teen's jaw dropped open and he touched his ink-black curls. "And Unknown was Asian."

Tooth felt her voice catch in her throat and she swallowed.

"And guess what my fairies found in my old prison cell? A dead Asian kid, with Nightmare sand in his heart."

No one said a word except for Solitude.

"Oh dear."

North's blue eyes were just as wide as Solitude's green ones as he, too, realized the implications. "You…you understand, child?"

The Eighth Nightmare Child nodded, his face even paler than usual. "I read about this, somewhere — "

"Cadmus Korveski's_ Lines of Mages, _volume seventeen," the old wizard's face was grave. "Chapter 13, _Reversing — "_

" — _Power Transfusion, _Part 4…" The boy exhaled into his hands. Then his face grew hard and he swore, loud and violently enough to make his siblings take a few steps back. "_D'Arvit, _how could I have been so _stupid?! _I — Pitch could've stolen our magic all along, and…" He sighed again and tried to say something more, but he couldn't. So he just clapped his hands over his mouth again and let his wide, shocked eyes speak for themselves, perfectly mirroring Tooth's expression across the room.

As the implications of his brother's words sunk in, Death's dark eyebrows rose high enough to disappear into his hair. "Oh…"

"Oh," Solitude agreed. "It wasn't enough for Pitch to just kill Unknown — "

"He stole back his identity as a Nightmare Child…" Tempest finished, almost disbelieving her own words. "How — but that's impossible; we were…"

They all knew what she was going to say: _born with our powers. _But she stopped herself as she remembered that she wasn't.

"But we weren't." Solitude corrected her even before she said it, still hesitant. "I'm not sure what it was exactly — but…the transfusions Pitch used to put the magic into us, he'd made sure they were reversible."

"So that if we rebelled…" Pain murmured, putting the pieces together.

"Then he'd be able to take everything back and start over," Wrath glanced down into the pretty face of his sister as he felt her fear. She'd always been afraid of him — not him as a person, just as a fear. Still, it was enough to make him on edge when around her, which he was sure she felt in return. The fear of hurting others still fell into the category of pain, anyway.

But, like always, she didn't say anything and when their gazes met, fire on blood, she tore hers away and didn't look back.

Tooth didn't notice any of this. Her fairies, and she, were all too distressed to pay attention to each other, much less anyone around them. Now, one thing about tooth fairies was that when they were anxious, they talked. They squeaked. They chirped. And they did it _loudly. _So did Tooth, truth to be told. But she did remember the fact that the two hundred forty fairies in Pitch's lair were in just the place to be caught _by Pitch._

_Girls! _she chastised them. _Panicking is NOT going to help anything! Pitch could be lurking just around the corner, and if you don't be quiet…_

She let the warning hang in the air and nodded approvingly as each fairy-voice died into nothing more than threads of thoughts in the back of her mind.

_Now, _she said, _you all need to take a few deep breaths. Relax._

She let them do so and then continued.

_Alpha Squad Leader, Kyr, do your girls have the teeth?_

In response, Kyr sent an image of a plastic Target bag containing eleven tooth boxes.

_Good! Now, the rest of you…the rest of you…should…_

The sentence tapered off. Tooth didn't really know _what _now. To be honest, she hadn't really expected to get this far in the rescue. She'd had a few vague inklings of her fairies lifting Takeshi up and flying with him like they'd done for Jack quite a few times, but a few fairies flying through the lair hallways was different than an entire boy.

"Tooth?" North's wise old face took on a look of worry and he came up beside her. "Is there something wrong?"

"I'm fine, North," she told him for perhaps the millionth time that day. The warrior-wizard didn't seem to believe that Pitch hadn't harmed her in any way, which even though he had reasons and it was nice was a bit annoying. "It's just…my fairies and I don't really know what to do."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We can't — " She swallowed her pride and explained. "We can't get him out. It's different with just a few fairies flying around the ceiling, but dragging him out like that, I don't know, it's just too risky, Pitch could be _anywhere."_

Her shoulders fell and she put her head in her hands, ashamed and exhausted. She couldn't believe she'd made it so far just to not be able to get him out. Maybe this was just another sign that she should give him up. Unknown was dead, powerless, and now unable to be rescued. If that wasn't called a lost cause, she didn't know what was.

"So that's it."

The voice cut through the silence like a knife and Tooth looked up. Death hadn't moved from his place in the shadows, but he'd lifted his head just so to meet Tooth's eyes.

"That's _it?" _he repeated, a little sharper. "You're just going to — to _give up? _Just because it's too hard, you're going to call him a lost cause and give up?"

Tooth was stunned, and maybe a bit creeped out. She could swear sometimes that these kids were telepathic. "I…but…"

"Just _shut up!" _Death swiped his hand through the air in her direction as he turned away, running his other hand through his hair. Indignantly, Jack stepped forward to give the Nightmare Child a word, or maybe a good case of frostbite to teach him not to speak to Tooth like that, but in a sudden flash of movement Death sidestepped him and strode towards Solitude, snatching him up by the collar of his t-shirt. "Sol, you're coming with. Dark! I need shadows, _now!"_

"Yes sir," Dark grinned to his brothers, and reached for the shadows.

"Hey — " Bunny, the closest to the Nightmare Children, swiped at Death to stop him, but he ended up just slapping Solitude who seemed to have no idea what was going on.

_"__Ouch,"_ Solitude protested, the sarcasm dripping from the word. He tried to stand straight on his own, but Death's grip was strong and he was just dragged a little bit faster towards Dark. "Death, where do you think _you're _going — "

But it was too late to answer anything. The Guardians were after them, Dark had already summoned the shadows, and Death was too impatient to sit down and explain anything. Without hesitation, he grabbed Dark's collar and pulled both brothers into the shadows with him.

"We," he said as the tendrils of darkness consumed their beings, "are going to tell Father to _bug off."_


	20. Miracles

**A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND UGH THIS CHAPTER IS REALLY KLUTZY BUT OKAY OKAY IT'S HERE**_  
><em>

* * *

><p>When Dark's shadows spat the three boys out into the dungeon corridor, they landed on their butts.<p>

"Ow…" Solitude groaned, sitting up and rubbing his head which he'd bumped on the floor when they fell. "What the frick, Death…"

There was no reply save a wheeze nearby. Blinking, Solitude stopped rubbing his head and looked around. The world was really blurry on his left side and everything was doubled, like one of his contact lenses had fallen out.

…Wait.

"Uh, guys?" he said, glancing over to the two black blob-like shapes next to him.

Neither seemed to hear. One of the blobs, the one on the ground, didn't even move.

"Dark, are you all right?" Death's voice came from the general vicinity of the second blob, who seemed to be standing up and reaching for the first blob.

"Ghhhuuuuuuuuuuuhhhh," said the first blob in reply, breathless.

"Hey, guys!" Solitude tried again. He realized he was squinting and resolved to stop. Squinting gave him headaches if he did it too much.

The second blob, Death, sighed in relief in reply to the first blob. "Just winded? You did well, though. I can't imagine what it's like, shadow-traveling with three. Good job."

A flicker of green caught Solitude's eye and he turned his head. There was a huge glittery green mass of tiny blobs behind him closest to the dungeon cell, though he couldn't really tell what it was. It almost seemed like…tooth fairies? He put his hand over his left eye and looked at them with just his right, the one that still had the contact lens in it. Yep, these were fairies. About half of them were staring at him.

"You know," he remarked to them. "I don't like being looked at."

In response the remaining half turned around and started staring at him too. He sighed mightily.

"Well Tooth, while I have your full attention," he said, laying on the sarcasm thick, "can you at least tell those two morons to listen to me?"

He noticed several of them snicker at this, but they obeyed. Away they flew and around Death's and Dark's head, twirling and dancing in graceful spirals and somehow avoiding the clumsy flails of Death's arms to get them out of his face.

"What the — " Death let out a string of words that didn't sound like English but were obviously not very clean anyway. His gaze finally landed on Solitude, who was standing with his arms crossed and one eye closed. The fairies, their job finished, then backed away.

"There," Solitude cut in before Dark could breathlessly ask what was going on. "Now that I have your attention, _finally, _I'd like to ask three questions: what are we doing, why am I here, and _can you at least help me find my bloody contact lens?!"_

It took Death only two seconds to cross the distance between him and his brother and to clamp his hand over the smaller boy's mouth before anything more could spill out, but he was two seconds too late. Solitude was normally a very soft-spoken boy but he was also the kind of person who, especially when he was frustrated or excited, forgot how loud he could get. He could be loud enough to wake the dead, and even though that was kind of why they were there, Death hadn't been planning on using Solitude to do it.

The younger boy's almond-shaped eyes turned to slits and he tried to wrestle out of Death's grip, but his older brother smoothly slipped his hand behind his neck and held him in place, hand still over his mouth.

"No really, shut up," Death said.

Frustrated and determined to annoy his brother as much as he could, Solitude hummed loudly and waved his arms in meaningless gestures. He couldn't really breathe now and he puffed out his cheeks to show Death that. Finally the older boy let go of his mouth, but only to reach up to his cheek, touch his skin underneath his left eye, and pluck free a small, transparent, rubbery object.

"Oh, it was _there?" _Solitude could feel his cheeks getting hot as he accepted the contact and looked at it. "Duh…"

"Yes, duh," Death rolled his amber eyes and let his brother go. Seriously, sometimes he wondered about this boy. So intelligent and yet such a ditz at the same time. He could swear Solitude was Sky's soul mate, even though they all knew that Solitude was openly uncomfortable with any kind of relationship and wasn't really "dating material". He couldn't even hold hands with anyone without twitching, blushing, sweating like a pig, making some useless point about troll romance and the quadrants, or all of the above.

Then again, so does the Author of this stupid story, so it would all balance out.

"Umm…" Solitude's awkward voice cut through Death's reminiscent silence, very conveniently proving his point and giving the Author something more to keep the story going. "Do you, by chance, have a bottle of contact solution?"

It was Death's turn to sigh mightily and he turned away to help the still-slightly-winded Dark to his feet. "Just put it in dry. It'll still go in."

"What?" Solitude brought the contact an inch from his eye. There was a weird dry spot where it had stuck to his skin. "But it's _dirty. _Do you think I _want _to get an eye infection?"

"Shut up," Death hissed, waving Solitude away. His eyes were narrowed and darting around the hallway, almost as if he was searching for something.

"Why?" the younger boy planted his free hand on his hip as he held the contact up with the other. It was actually kind of funny, considering he was a guy and hands-on-hip didn't really have the same effect. "I'm not going to shut up unless you give me a good reason. Now shoot, or I'll keep talking. I can talk all I want; you're not the boss of me."

"I'm serious, shut _up," _Death pushed past Solitude and stepped slowly towards the dead end of the hallway. "He's…he's here…"

"I think…he's being serious," Dark deadpanned, still looking a little bit drowsy from the shadow-traveling.

Death shushed him too and kept peering into the darkest shadows at the end of the hallway. Suddenly, he stood straight.

Curious, the other two boys looked a bit closer. Next to them, every one of the tooth fairies had fallen silent. Even the constant humming of their wings seemed quieter, dimmer. Almost as if they feared the shadows, and the black-robed figure who emerged from them like they had created him.

His feet were bare and silent as he stepped out, closer to them. In the background behind the silence tooth fairies screamed as they realized who this was, and subsequently jumped to conclusions as to why he was here. Then they too fell silent as he turned his head and simply looked at them out from the depths of his cowled hood, before turning back to the three boys.

Dark's eyes were wide as golf balls and involuntarily took a step back and reached towards a shadow. It swirled in his fingertips and he held up the sword that formed there, ready to fight. "D…Death, what — what is it?"

But his brother didn't answer. He simply stood there, face-to-face with the _thing _as it came towards them. He didn't even look scared, which was surprising. There was something unplaceably, intrinsically _terrifying _about this hooded figure, like you couldn't even look too deeply into the shadows of the hood for fear of seeing the face underneath and shriveling into dust.

"Dark," Solitude whispered. Carefully, slowly, so as not to make more noise than he was already making, he placed one sneakered foot behind the other. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to run."

"Don't," came Death's low, quiet voice. "He's not here for us."

Then, before either of his brothers could say a word, he took two long steps forward and covered the ground between them and the black-cloaked figure.

At the same time, both stopped. For a silent eternity, they stood as he sized it up and it sized him up. One hundred fairies watched with wide eyes, none of them making even a cheep.

Then the figure drew one hand out of the folds of its cloak, reached up, and pushed back the cowl of its hood.

Don't ask the boys what he looked like, because you're going to get extremely different answers, maybe an argument. Dark would have said he was short, Death would have claimed they were the same height, and Solitude would have called him tall. Dark saw short curly red hair; Death, tangled and tousled, dusty brown; Solitude, smooth, black, cropped straight at the shoulders just like his own. Pinkish, freckled skin. No, light olive, Mediterranean! Neither; he was more South Asian than anything. Blue eyes, brown eyes, eyes blacker than madness itself.

And yet the only things they could ever agree on were the simple monk-like black cloak, the shadows before the eyes, and the eerie feeling of looking into a mirror and seeing yourself in a different world.

"Death," said the black-cloaked reflection in an emotionless, uncannily familiar voice.

The addressed party smiled. So he hadn't forgotten him.

"Death," he replied in kind.

The reflection (Death?) glanced over Death's (the other Death's?) shoulder at his two brothers. "I see you've brought guests."

"They're my brothers," said Death flatly. "Solitude — the short squinting one. Dark — the Sherlock geek."

"I can't believe that show's still running," the reflection furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure Doyle wrote that many original stories."

Dark seemed to relax at the mention of Sherlock. He shrugged, let go of his sword, and ran his fingers through his Benedict Cumberbatch-style hair. "I dunno. Not complaining, though."

The reflection smirked. "Oh, definitely not."

"Hey, did you see the one that just came out this week?"

"Eeesh…last week was horrible for me…another sort of plague in Africa. Sorry, no. Didn't get a chance."

"Totally understand. I was stuck in a prison cell and they took away my phone. Can you believe that?"

"Why would they not let you have a cellular telephone in a prison cell. I must ponder on this mystery. You know, for someone who likes Sherlock as much as you do, you can be awfully obtuse."

Instead of protesting, Dark just nodded. "Yeah, I know. But like, I was just really pissed, you know? I couldn't even text Nyx back, and now she probably thinks I'm ignoring her."

"Nyx _likes _it when you don't text her back," Solitude couldn't help but put in. "She thinks you talk too much."

Dark sniffed indignantly. "I do _not. _And — hey, how do you know she thinks I talk too much?"

"She told me the other night, you know, the night of that Mountain Dew party? Yeah, she snuck in after you'd all passed out and we hooked up and yeah, _that _was fun — "

"You did _what?!" _Dark's voice rose to almost a shriek and both Deaths, elder and teenager, winced. Solitude just looked extremely proud of himself. He sniffed mockingly, acting miffed.

"Relax…we just talked. Okay, maybe we kissed a couple times. Maybe passionately. Okay, really passionately. And maybe then — "

"No you didn't, Sol," Death the younger sighed, rubbing his temples.

He didn't even fight it. "No, I didn't. She wasn't even there. I just know you talk too much, that's all."

Dark visibly calmed down. His face had been going a dangerous shade of red and his fists had been clenched so tightly that Death could literally see the whites of his knuckles.

"Good," he growled, obviously trying to sound threatening. "Because if you even dare _think _about touching Nyx, then I swear I will — "

Solitude got this look on his face that clearly said _I live with this kid and yet I still don't know what's up with him, _and threw his hands into the air. "Oh for the love of the great troll Jegus…Dark, I'm just kidding! You haven't even kissed her yourself!"

"I have too!"

"Uh, nuh uh…"

A loud sigh went up from the reflection at the end of the hallway and they all turned to see him holding his forehead in his hand. He had that look on like exasperated teachers sometimes do when they catch me drawing in my notebook and tell me to stop drawing those two characters kissing and I explain that I'm not drawing the _same two characters_; I drew Peridot and Lapis from Steven Universe on Monday and it's Ruby and Sapphire today, and tomorrow it'll probably be palerom Jane and Tavrosprite from Homestuck, Kanan and Hera from Star Wars Rebels on Thursday, and then on Friday Will and Leslie from my FictionPress story just to give me some fandom variation throughout the week's biology classes — and next week it'll probably just be portraits of Markiplier or possibly some blackrom ships so no, you won't have to worry about me drawing people kissing anymore, just a bunch of cute people and cute people having fistfights — and yes I _am_ paying attention, you were just saying about that lovely chromatin diagram on page 341…?

Yes, the Elder had _that _look on his face.

And I just used the word obtuse twice in one chapter. I feel great.

"Children!" the Elder snapped finally, getting me and the story back on track. "Can we _please _get back on to the topic at hand? You did _not _come here to argue about girls, so _don't!"_

The three Nightmare boys looked at him in surprise, then simultaneously blushed. Death offered up some half-hearted denial about how he had nothing to do with the conversation and Solitude muttered something about "Oh yeah, and Sherlock is _on topic". _Dark just coughed and concentrated his eyes on a shadow by the floor.

The Elder Death looked at each embarrassed teen, then sighed again and glanced behind him towards the wall. The Nightmare boys looked, but saw nothing except two small wisps of fog that they couldn't quite look at except out of their barest peripheral vision, so Dark thought he'd just imagined them and Solitude could barely tell the difference, what with his contact lens still being out. But Death knew better.

"He's here?" he asked his elder counterpart.

The Elder's head turned sharply and his gaze fixed on Death, like a predator assessing its prey. His chest rose and fell slightly as he breathed, which for some reason just didn't seem right. Almost like a paradox — true Death shouldn't have a heart, and so Death shouldn't breathe the living's air.

"Not exactly," the Elder replied, and explained in a lower voice.

"He's dead now, you see…and we literally just broke the news to him that he's on a different level now, and he's sort of…taking it hard. The tooth fairies nearly passed right through him. And you must know by now, he's got that martyr complex in him — he never thought there was any other way and when he found out that he's beyond physical help, he didn't want to…bring himself any lower, per se, by wanting help. So when you came…" He inhaled and glanced briefly away awkwardly. "He had one message for you, all of you. To get out of here before Pitch found you."

"But — Pitch isn't here," Solitude cut in, visibly shaken. "I would've felt him…"

"But he is." The Elder glanced over to the still-silent Mini-fairies. "You came for Takeshi, but that's part of what Pitch wanted and your brother knows that. But he's only more or less here right now, and so I'm here to tell you instead."

He locked eyes with each boy, and somehow all of them at once.

"Get the bloody hell out of here right now, and don't come back for him."

Something extremely dangerous flashed across Death the younger's face at that moment and he took one step forward, covering the ground between him and his namesake in a heartbeat. The spectators half expected his hand to shoot up and grab the Elder by the collar, but he just spoke. Simple, calm, blank in tone.

"I came here to bring my baby brother back to life and that is what I am going to do, Pitch or no. So hand him over, and we'll get going as soon as you allow."

Death swore he saw the Elder's eyebrow twitch, but other than that he remained impassive.

"I'm sorry," he replied in a rather pleasant voice. "But I'm afraid Takeshi wasn't the only one to warn me of this."

"Death?" Solitude cut in, sounding more than a bit nervous. "Wh…what's he talking about?"

"You know," the Elder smiled. "The Man in the Moon."

A pang of _something _— not quite fear, not hatred either…_dread, _that was it — touched Death's heart at that moment. He stepped back, suddenly feeling very small in the shadow of the Elder. Oh sure, he was technically on the Guardians' side now (for the moment, he assumed), but old habits die hard and Pitch hadn't kept them in the dark about the guy in the sky. "M…the Man in the Moon…warned…"

"Oh yes," the Elder crowed, waving a hand seemingly to dismiss the nearby tooth fairies, who didn't look all too happy with that. "Told me of all this. Gave me strict orders to wait here and make sure you didn't do anything stupid, like bringing him back to life on your own. Even Demir — sorry, _Solitude — _even _you _would have failed. It takes a lot of belief to push me back, and even with all of you combined you're not up to the task. Too much fear."

Death didn't realize he was gritting his teeth until he tried to speak again. The last few weeks had been…interesting, to say the least — so many childish _emotions _coming back to him in whispers and drops, with each bit of light he saw in the Guardians' eyes and his brother's sacrifice. He hadn't particularly known what to make of it — he'd pushed the thoughts aside, like he normally did. But this was new, this was dark, this was everything he normally felt composed into one and more…and he couldn't ignore it. It demanded embracing, acting, speaking. Anger.

"I'm not afraid of you."

The Elder's mouth stretched into a small, thin smile and he turned away, towards the wall. "True. But don't deny it — you are afraid of something."

Each of the three boys felt the same thing — the feeling like a cold stone in their stomachs.

"I'm not Pitch — I don't _know, _but I do feel it. I can feel, you know. I see it in the eclipses of your hearts, the shadows before your eyes — I've felt it all, anything there is to fear, you're not alone there." His voice had grown low, almost melancholic. "I recognize fear, and I see your fight. But once I'm here for you, then there's nothing you can do. This isn't your fight, boys."

Death's fingers clenched into fists, but almost as if reading his mind, the Elder continued.

"Not against me, at least," he said, turning around and pointing. "That shadow over there — _that's _who the enemy is."

Death wasn't so keen to believe him, but Solitude and Dark caught the darting shadow out of their peripheral vision and spun around just in time to catch it. A gasp escaped Dark's mouth and he instinctively reached to the darkness for a sword, but just as he did, the shadows jerked themselves away from his hands and refused to obey.

They grew and crept up the walls, taking on a body and arms and a head — clearly Pitch. What little light there seemed to be left in the dungeons was stolen away as some strange grey fog seemed to spill from the cracks in the ceiling towards the ground, swirling around their ankles and tickling their spines with trailing ice-cold fingertips. And tooth fairies (the boys had almost forgotten about them) screamed in terror and anger one word: _NO!_

_ "__I thought we'd be able to avoid unpleasant confrontations,"_ said an eerily familiar voice, echoing on the stone walls and seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was the voice of Father, the boys realized, but at the same time…_not. _Father as they knew him was frazzled, exhausted, irritated. This man sounded like he knew _exactly _what he was doing, and was certain of the outcome.

_"__I don't want to accidentally hurt you, after all. And…well, I have seen you boys fight_. _You're positively…terrifying."_

At the last word, the Nightmare King himself seemed to rise from the floor in a swirl of sand and shadows. Screams spiraled into the air with a raise of his hand and as the Nightmares formed at a flick of the fingers Pitch turned around to face his sons. There was a grin on his face and in his eclipse eyes and it was that of a carnivore's, ready to feed from the fear of his victims.

And then, among all the drama and shadows, Solitude facepalmed.

"Oh for Signless's sake, Dad!" he cried. "Not _this _again!"

'Dad' froze instantly. A very confused and small-sounding "what?" fell out of his mouth.

Interestingly enough, Death the Elder seemed the most confused by this reaction. "What do you mean… 'again'?" he cut in, his brow furrowing.

Solitude made a strange stirring movement in the air with his hands before just dropping them at his sides helplessly. "I mean…_this," _he pointed right at Pitch, who was still frozen in his tracks with his mouth hanging half-open. "He gives nearly the same performance _every single time _someone wants to talk back, or fight, or whatever. Come on guys, you know what I'm talking about."

He sent pointed glances at his two brothers, who at first looked about as confused as Pitch and the Elder. Death was giving him the "bro you have officially been playing too many video games; you need sleep" look and seemed about two seconds away from opening his big mouth and ruining everything. So Solitude took it into his own hands before he could.

"You know," he forced, trying his hardest to mask every bit of fear within him. It wasn't that he was a bad liar, per se — just a bad liar around Pitch, who had a knack for seeing the true motive behind anything you might say. "Like, one time in particular. It was a couple years ago I think. I was, what, fourteen?"

_Subtle hints, cough cough for emphasis, _the thought ran through Solitude's head and he tried his hardest to project it towards his still-very-confused brothers. Telepathy had never really been his thing, truth to be told. It required a close connection of wills and psyches and a bunch of other stuff he'd never felt the need to remember, because none of those were his things anyway. It was only now that he wished he had at least paid a little attention. _Fourteen. Who is fourteen right now. Come on guys, get with it…_

Whether it be actual psychic powers, Death's own capacity for reading subtle body language, or just a twist of fate that put the pieces together in the older boy's head — something seemed to click, and he nodded in understanding. "Oh yes. The first Mountain Dew incident?"

Mountain Dew. So he got it. Solitude nodded and grinned. "Yup."

"This is preposterous," Pitch cut in disdainfully. "I don't _ever _recall an incident like that, and for the record, I _never _give the 'same performance', or whatever — in fact I have no idea what you're talking about when you say I have done it again — "

_"__Exactamente, señor!" _Solitude exclaimed in badly accented Spanish and pumped his fist in the air. Death nodded with him and elbowed Dark in the ribs, eliciting an indignant "ow" from the boy but still getting his point across. Dark still didn't know what was going, or why his brothers were acting so happy about something that he was _positive _never happened, and for whatever reason he didn't understand the message to just play along with it.

Even Pitch looked a little alarmed when Dark started guffawing so loudly that it'd put Nicholas St. North to shame.

"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON."

Everyone stared at Dark for a long time because everything's such a mess now that even the author doesn't know how to get them out of it. But in the cell with Unknown's dead body, the tooth fairies all braced themselves for the climactic stalemate break that they knew was about to come.

**"****But what?" **the author asks, lifting her head out of her arms where she'd been lamenting the purpose of her life, the pointlessness of this story, and the shame of self-insertion, because she is not Andrew Hussie and inserting herself into a story is the one thing she does not want to do, ever. Unless of course it's a non-serious story. But since this is a semi-serious story, she most definitely does not want to be here. The only reason she is here is to experiment talking about herself in the third person and to draw this story out as long as possible, so as to reap maximum reviews and dominate the world through mass readership.

Totally.

**"****Really guys. Help me out here. I'm a moron."**

So the tooth fairies, sighing and facepalming in a clear message that said _Dark, you're more hopeless than the Nightmare Child Dark, _whispered their different ideas into her ear. She could continue with Solitude's ruse and just cover up Dark's annoying interjection, which would take up a lot of pointless dialogue that she didn't seem happy to write but WOULD round off the really clever dialogue-hinting trick she'd come up with while in the shower, as usual. Or she could just get it over with and pop the balloon while she was still holding the pin.

**"****Well, you know what," **she announced, **"it's just a first draft that's never gonna be rewritten cuz this is a freaking FANFICTION and will never be published and hence doesn't need more than the FIVE ZILLION DRAFTS IT'S ALREADY GONE THROUGH, and we're all gonna die anyway because life is short and I am human, so WHAT'S THE POINT."**

And so she reached through the fourth wall, slapped all three Nightmare boys in the face at once, and left them to their own devices.

They all seemed really stunned at first, not just because a girl had just appeared out of thin air and vanished but also because her slaps actually hurt and because suddenly, they knew what to do. It was like they'd been standing on the ice rink called Blatant Stupidity and someone just shattered the ice with a sledgehammer, letting them splash into the cold waters of Okay We Actually Have An Idea Of What To Do Now. It wasn't pleasant at first, but they were awake now instead of shivering and slipping on the ice. First they exchanged confused glances, then nodded a few times, and all smiled. Solitude even put his contact lens back in.

"Yeah, I like that idea better," he drawled, taking on the author's stupid accent. "As our American author likes to say…whatever."

And that was when he shot forward and tackled the Nightmare King.

XXXXXXXXX

I suppose that I should now be writing about Unknown right now — what was _he _thinking? What was he saying? How many times did he facepalm and wish he was dead, only to realize that he actually was?

Well, I suppose I'll tell you the truth. As I was writing that last part, I was doing no more than sitting in my pajamas on the couch, eating lasagna and watching Star Wars Rebels reruns for the heck of it. I felt no compulsion to do such a thing at the time and as of now, at ten o'clock on a Wednesday night, I feel even less compulsion, if you can have less than none. Which as of now, I do. Shall I come back in some untold time, delete this passage and amend the former statements with a detailed, well-written selection of Unknown's Point of View rather than this pathetic insertion of my own personal thoughts? Possibly. Will I now? Most definitely not. Have I, a week since writing it? No, I have only added to the spiel. The spiel will stay, I have decided. And — _as I write possibly three months after it was founded — _may only grow longer with the passage of time.

But so, the Reader seems to want at least something, and so I shall appease you with the best I have. Do not expect much, for Unknown was in fact doing very little at the time.

More specifically, he was unconscious.

XXXXXXXXX

This is when you, as the intelligent reader, ask the appropriate question — "how on earth can our protagonist be unconscious IF HE'S ALREADY DEAD?"

The answer, in fact, is not as you might think. The Elder simply had to turn around and slap the youngest ghost upside the head so hard that he flipped head over heels and crashed onto the ground. By the time the three Nightmare boys showed up, which was a second later, the ghost of Takeshi Itou was out cold and Red was yelling at the Grim Reaper. He glared at her in an attempt to silence her, but she just slapped him in the face and kept yelling at him more.

"You're cute when you're mad," he told her with a perfectly straight face.

_That _was when she found herself speechless, and that was about when the Elder turned away and began talking to the other three Nightmare Kids.

By the time the action broke out, though, Red was fine.

She _was _furious — with the Elder especially. But she was also a very logical person and knew, just from experience, that now was probably not the best time to let her emotions rule. The Elder was trying to _help _Takeshi, wasn't he? There was still so much that she didn't know about Death, even after having passed through his arms once before, but what she was sure of was the fact that if possible, he'd stop at nothing to help a child. They had so much left and if one slipped from his arms, flew away like a bird, he wouldn't protest. That was something she'd never tell him that she knew, though she reasoned that her mere refrain from sticking her head into his current plan was evidence enough.

Red had a general idea as to what the green-eyed Nightmare boy was getting at with his plan, but she also knew that it wouldn't work. So she felt a bit justified when the Author headdesked right through the fourth wall and wailed failure, because it meant she was right again.

_Then again, _she mused to herself as she watched the author slap the three moron Nightmare boys into sensibility, smirking a bit as she did because oh, how often she'd wished she could do the same to her husband's three moron advisers, _I'm often right._

That statement in itself was right, too. But since Red's life was spent in a male-dominated, feudalist society where her brains could have been equivalent to a bowl of oatmeal and still been put to the same use than if they scored more IQ points than Leonardo Da Vinci himself, her powers of logic had never been put to their proper use.

Until today.

Even before the fight broke out she could sense the tension building, just in the forced way Solitude spoke, the way Death the Younger shifted his weight to his good leg (Red knew for a fact that the boy had badly sprained his left ankle at age eleven and it had never been the same again — he always fought with his weight on his right foot). Dark still didn't seem like he knew what was going on but then again, from all she knew about these kids from lurking in the shadows, idly watching them train when she didn't have anything better to do (which she never did, as she was dead), she figured that this was rather normal for him. Still, he seemed to sense a fraction of what she was sensing, as his black gaze darted restlessly and his fingers tensed into tight claws. Pitch's eyes were narrowed and his shoulders set back slightly, shadows creeping at his feet menacingly; and on the other side of the Nightmare boys' wall, the Elder was doing the same. The tooth fairies' constant twittering had dimmed into a dimmer, more nervous buzz. Even the way they arranged themselves into a group much resembled battle formation.

And then the room exploded.

Things happened so fast after that only an ADHD demigod or a hyperobservant ghost could have processed everything before it was over. Solitude took a single, bounding step forward and summoned a deadly nightmare sand spear to his upraised hand even before he hit the ground, following the lunge quickly with a swift downward swipe that Pitch only barely dodged. The Nightmare King's eyes bulged in alarm as he realized the undeniable — his son wasn't kidding — and nearly got his nose taken off by the jagged, barbed point of a spear.

"Go!" Solitude yelled back to Dark, who was running towards them with a sword in hand. "I'll be fine, just get Unknown!"

Dark tried to protest out of confusion, but Solitude just told him to shut up. Then he went back to wrestling with his dad, who had created a similar spear and was no longer holding back. This wasn't practice time anymore.

Meanwhile, the Younger turned on the Elder, grabbing a fistful of his monk's cloak and pulling him so close that their noses were nearly touching. It would probably be hyperbole to say that the Younger was anywhere close to a shade of furious as he had still not yet entirely grasped the human concept of _emotion_, but he definitely did not look happy.

"You," he said, his voice still as level and reasonable as ever, "are coming with me."

In one swift, powerful movement, the Younger Death _literally _threw the Elder across the room. Red only had a second to move — which she used — before the Grim Reaper slammed into the wall right next to her.

"Smooth," she commented, but he ignored her. She figured she'd have retribution for that later though.

Across the room, Solitude wasn't having much luck against his father. The Nightmare King was just too fast, too powerful. But dozens of shades of emotions flashed across his face with every move he made, varying from confusion to fury to horror. It almost seemed like he was warring with himself, because sometimes he'd just jerk forward and come on all at once, seemingly _eager _to end the battle once and for all — to add another body to the pile. But then he'd stumble backwards in shock, staring horrified into Solitude's eyes.

"What…have you done?" he whispered once, before pouncing forward and knocking the spear from his Eighth Child's hands.

The Younger Death took the Elder by the collar again and began _literally _dragging him towards Dark, who was holding Unknown's body bridal-style. "Sol, any time you're willing to go is fine," the Younger called, as his younger brother was being _literally _thrown around the room by Pitch's Nightmares.

"Oh — _ow! _— YEAH!" With some difficulty, Solitude grabbed the Nightmare's mane, flung himself over its back and kicked Pitch in the stomach before landing on the ground. Another Nightmare nabbed him by the ankle and began dragging him the other direction, back towards Pitch. "LITTLE HELP OVER HERE?"

The imaginary dramatic music in the background faded away and everyone just looked at Pitch and Solitude and the million Nightmares, wrestling in a methodless, mad ball of sand. There was absolutely no reason for any of this to have been happening, besides that the author dropped off during this part, left the story for 6 months, and came back neither knowing nor caring what the context here is.

"WELL THEN, YOU KNOW _WHAT?" _Solitude pulled his hands free and raised them above his head, scowling a scowl that itself was enough to make the Nightmares actually flinch. "WHO EVEN CARES ABOUT PLOT SMOOTHNESS ANYMORE. FRICK THIS. FRICK FRICK FRICK FRICK FRICK FRICKIN _FRICK EVERY MOTHERFRICKIN' SECOND OF THIS!"_

And he clapped his hands and yelled something in Latin and the rabble exploded, giving him, Death the Younger, Death the Elder, Dark, Unknown's body, the gazillion tooth fairies, and Unknown's ghost enough distraction to shadow-sprint the heck outta there.

_I was right, you know, _Red the ghost called down to the smoking, semiconscious body of Pitch Black.

He flipped her the bird.


End file.
